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rKINKS I TO MYSELF. 

. A 

SERIO'LUDICRO, TRdGICOCOMICO 

WRITTEN BY 

THINKS Z TO IIIIirSEZ.F 
WHO? 



TWO VOLUMES IN ONE. 






PHIMDELPIfm: 

A. SHERMAN, AGT., NO. 26^ SOUTH FOrRTH ST- 

R, Wright, printer. 
1824. 



.%- 



^4^ 



'^'^' 



THmKS-I-TO-MirSELP? 



I WAS born of very honest, worthy, and respecta- 

e parents; at least I think so. They were cer- 

inly tully as much so as their neighbours: their 

reumstances were affluent; their rank in life con- 

licuous; their punctuality, as to the discharge of 

ijust debts, and rejsjular payment of their trades^ 

Bople, unexceptionable. They generally appear- 

ito be regarded by all around them in a very 

jspectable light, being in the habit of receiving 

[id returning, according to the customs of the 

orld, all the usual compliments and civilities of 

isits, entertainments, &c. &c. Divers person- 

5€S of all ranks and denominations used occa- 

lonally to resort to the house; some in carriages, 

ame on horseback, some on foot; some in a for- 

!ial, stiff, ceremonious manner; some upon a foot- 

ag of intimacy and equality; some upon special 

avitation; some quite unexpected. 

Not having very good health in my early days, 

lived much at home, and generally kept my good 

•other company; so that I was present at most of 

le meetings and greetings of which I have spo- 

sn; privy to all the preliminary arrangements of 

losen and select parties; and a witness coniiuon- 

to the reception given to the several invitations 

lat came from all quarters of the neighbourhood; 



as Lord and Lady this^ Sir Timothy and L 
that; Mr. and Mrs. Toother thing, kc, &c. 
all in their turns, and out of their turns, welci 
or unwelcome^, friends or foe.% were in the cou 
of the year, admitted or invited to the Hall. 

For we lived, you must know, in a Hall! t 
is, our house was called so — not when I was b( 
nor till long afterwards; nor ever very serious 
rather indeed as a nick-name than any thing ei 
The case was this: — my sister happened to hav 
correspondent at a school near London, who, fii 
ing it essentially necessary to the support of i 
dignity among her school fellows, always direc 
her letters so: — for the parents of one, she fou 
lived at something House; and of another 
what's-it*^s-name Place; and of another at thii 
umme Lodge; of another at the Grangk; of ai 
ther at the Castle; of another at the Pakk: so 
lived on Mount Pleasants; some on Rose Hii 
some on Primrose Banks; some at Belle-vu 
some in Paragon's; some in Circus's; some 
Crescents; in short, all boasted of a title a 
distinction, which our poor old mansion seem 
to want: whether it were the dwelling of a Du 
or a Cheesemonger^ it was all one: so that in I 
own defence, she thought it fit to aggrandize I 
correspondent in the eyes of her school-felloe 
by conferring a title of some sort or other on ( 
old mansion; and as Hall appeared to be as mu 
unoccupied as any, she determined to direct to 
not at simple * Grumblethorpe,'' as formerly, I 
at Grumblethorpe Hall, which certainly sour 
ed much grander. 

And for the House's sake, I must aver, tha 
deserved a title far more than half the Lod^ 



^nd Places^ and Parks, and Mounts, and Hills, and 
Bcmfcs in the kingdom: for it was a regular, goodj 
f)ld fashioned mansion; situated in a very reverend 
and venerable park; with a stately avenue of lofty 
elms, reaching near a quarter of a mile; a hand- 
pome terrace in front, and a noble prospect from 
file drawing-room window; so that I have often 
thought it no less than a degradation of our vene- 
rable residence to be tricked out in this manner: 
out our friend could not, it seems, well help it; to 
live at only * Grumbkthorpe^ sounded so base in 
the refined ears of her associates, that she was in 
no small danger of being condemned and despis- 
ed for having such a correspondent; especially by 
Mhs Blaze, the daughter of a retired tallow-chan- 
pler, whose father lived at Candlewick Castle^ 
and who was continually throwing out hints, that 
not to live at a Castle, or a Park, or a Place, or a 
House, or aXoc?^e, manifestly and unequivocally be- 
Spojcc so lowly an origin, and so Plebian a parent- 
age, that, for her part, she wondered how any per- 
son so meanly connected, could possibly have found 
her way to so genteel, and select a. seminary; in 
phort, our friend found, that the only way to allay 
the degrading suspicions which had been excited, 
was to new-name our old mansion, and Grum- 
^lethorpe Hall became its established designation. 
j Well, — to this mansion, this Hall, as I said be- 
fore, divers persons and personages resorted. The 
neighbourhood was tolerably large, and the neigh- 
bours themselves, what is commonlv called, soci- 
fiBLE—so that what with stated, and settled, and 
pop visits, we were seldom alone. 

1 know not under what particular planet I was 
jiorn; — I never asked any cunning man to cast my 



nativity, and notbeing born under Mercury 1 1 was 
jiever cunning enough to find it out of myself;— 
but if there be any one of them that has any pecu- 
liar influences in the way of consideration^ reflec- 
tion, ov soliloquy y no doubt 1 was born under that; 
for being more given to taciturnity than loquacity 
in my boy hood and early youth, and being sickly 
besides, the part I generally bore, in most of the 
companies I speak of, was to sit quite quiet, and 
make observations and remarks to myself, upon 
the conversation and conduct of others; and by 
degrees I got into a habit, not only of thinking, 
but of talking to myself; and if any thing was 
done or uttered at any time, that suggested cer- 
tain MW-utterable remarks, I fell into that particu- 
lar state of soliloquy, and mental reflection, whicl> 
1 cannot possibly define or describe otherwise, 
than by the vulgar and trite, but significant phrase, 

* THINKS- I-TO-MYSELF.* 

It is past all ciDnception, how continually I was 
driven to have recourse to these mental remarks; 
—scarcely a word was uttered that did not sug- 
gest something odd and whimsical to my watchful 
mind; — often did it make me quite tremble for 
fear I should by any accident or inadvertency ut- 
ter aloud, what was passing onlj in my thoughts; 
I suppose liad it happened, it would at any time, 
and on a sudden, have made such a groupe, as no- 
thing but the pencil of an Hogarth could have 
adequately described:— for in our neighbourhood, 
as in most others, (though a very sociable one,) the 
truth is— there was such likings and dislikingSj 
such jealousies and suspicions, such envyings and 
emulations, such a contrariety of feelings and sen- 
timents, as woul4 have set every thing in an up- 



roar in a moment, had not the utmost and most 
unwearied attention been paid, by all parties, to 
the preventing any discovery of the truth. 

My poor mother had not'a spark of ill-nature 
in her disposition, no pride, no uncharitableness; 
— but was certainly as well bred, and as ready to 
make allowances for others, as most people; but 
she could distinguish, as well as any, between 
agreeables and disagreeables, and be as much af- 
fected by them; and thought, I believe, that, take it 
altogether, there was rather a predominance of 
the latter, in the affairs and occupations, and com- 
mon pursuits of the world; — she did not open her 
mind to me so fully on the subject, as to enable 
me to state what was the exact nature of her 
feelings, but I could collect a good deal from her 
conduct and manner occasionally. 

The first tendency to indulge mys?lf in the lu- 
cubrations and reflections I describe, arose from 
the strange circumstance that seemed to me, to 
attend her intercourse with her neighbom'S;''that is, 
the giving and receiving of visits! ^' 

(3ne day when I was sitting quite snug with her, 
and she was occupied in writing to my sister, who 
was absent from home, I spied at the end of the 
avenue, a groupe oi pedestrians slowly making 
up to Grumblethorpe*Hall, apparently dressed in 
their best bibs and tuckers for a morning visit: 
Thinks Lto -myself, here's some agreeable com- 
pany coming to my dear mamma! how kind it is 
of her neighbours to call in upon her thus, and 
not leave her to mope away her time by herself, 
as though she were buried alive! — Not being will- 
ing, however, to run any risk of disappointing 
her, I waited patiently to see whether they were 



really coming to the Hall, for part of the avenue 
was the high-way to the village: I kept watching 
them, therefore, with no small anxiety, for fear 
they should turn away abrubtly, and deceive my 
expectations; but when I saw them happily ad- 
vanced beyond the turning to the village, and was 
therefore certain that they were really coming to 
see my dear mother, 1 hastily turned round to her, 
exclaiming, * Here's ever so many people coming, 
mamma!' thinking to delight her very heart: — 

* People coming,' says she; ' I hope not!' * Yes, 
indeed there are,' says I: *one, two, three, four 
ladies, a little boy and two pug dogs, I declare!' 

* Bless my soul!' says my mother,— ' how provok- 
ing! it is certainly Mrs. Fidget and her daughters, 
and f/iaf troublesome child, and now I can't finish 
my letter to your sister before the post goes! —I 
wish to goodness they would learn to stay at home, 
and let one have one's time to one's self!' Thinks-!- 
to-myself my poor mother seems not much to like 
their coming; I am afraid the Mrs. and Miss Fid- 
gets will meet with rather, an unkindly reception! 
however, I plainly saw there was no stopping 
them; they got nearer and nearer; — the walking 
was not over clean, and my mother was the neat- 
est woman in the world. Thinks I-to -myself the 
pug dogs will dirty the room. At last they ar- 
rived;-— the servant ushered them in:— sure enough, 
jt was Mrs, and Miss Fidgets, and the troublesome 
child, and all! Mrs, Fidget ran up to my mother 
as though she would have kissed her, so glad did 
she seem to see her My mother, (bless her hon- 
est soul!) rose from her seat and greeted them 
most civilly. * This is very kind indeed, Mrs. 
Fi^et,' says she, * and I esteem^ it a great favour! 



I had no idea you could have walked so far; 1 

am delighted to see you!" 

Thinks- Lto -myself, — she wishes you all at the 
Old Nick! ! ! 

Mrs Fidget assured her she might take it as a 
particular favour, for she had not done such a 
thing, she believed, for the last six montiis; and 
she should never have attempted it now to visit 
any body elsel 

ThinicS'l to myself, — then Mrs. Fidget you have 
lost your labour; — * and now,' says she, « how I 
am to get home again, I am sure 1 cannot tell, for 
I really am thoroughly knocked up.' Thinks-I- 
to-myself, my dear mother won't like to hear that! 
— but I was mistaken; for turning to Mrs. Fidget, 
she said, with the greatest marks of complacency, 
* ilmVs good hearing (or us; then we shall have 
the pleasure of your company to dinner; Mr. 
Dermont will be delighted when he comes home 
to find you all here.' • you are very good,' says 
Mrs. Fidget. ' But I must return whether I can 
walk or not, only 1 fear I must trouble you with a 
longer visit than may be agreeable.' * Ihe longer 
the better says my dear mother.' Thinks I- to- my- 
self, —thaVs a !! ^ 

\yhile my mother and Mrs. Fidget were engag- 
ed in ihh friendly and complimentary conversa- 
tion the Miss Fidgets were lifting up the little boy 
to a cage, in which my mother's favourite canary- 
bird hung, and the boy was sedulously poking his 
fingers through the wires of the cage, to the great 

alarm and annoyance of the poor little animal. 

Thinks-I-to-myself, my mother will wish you be- 

'"'nd the fire presently, young gentleman! but 

such thing!— for just at that moment, she 

nM round, and seeing how he was occupied 



10 

asked, if the cage should be taken down to ainuse^ 
him; * he is a sweet 6oy, Mrs. Fidget,' says she;^ 
* how old is he?' 'just turned of four,' says Mrs. 
Fidget; * only four ^^ says my mother, * He is a re- 
markable^we strong boy for that age!' * He is in- 
deed a fine child,' says Mrs. Fidget; but don't my 
dear do that^' says she, * you frighten the poor 
bird.' As the Miss Fidgets were about to put him 
down, my mother ventured to assure them, that 
he would do no harm; * pretty little fellow y says 
she, * pray let him amuse himself 

All this while the two pug dogs were recowwoi^- 
ring the drawing-room and furniture, jumping up- 
on "the sofa continually with their dirty feet, and 
repeatedly trying to discern (by the application of 
their pug noses to our feet and knees) who my 
mother and myself could be, barking besides in 
concert at every movement and every strange 
noise they hearci in the passage and Hall; Mrs. 
Fidget sometimes pretending to chide them, and 
my mother as carefully pretending to excuse them 
with her whole heart; often did I catch her cast- 
ing, as I thought, a wishful eye on the letter to 
my sister, which lay unfinished on the table: nay** 
once even when her attention had been particular- 
ly solicited to some extraordinary attitudes into 
which the little dogs had been severally bidden to 
put themselves /or her express amusement 

But these canine exhibitions were nothing to 
the one with which we were afterwards thre-*^" " * 
for my mother's high commendations of th^ ■ 
gentleman of four years old induced his si 
propose to their mother, that he should * 1 
Dermont hear how well he could spout* 



11 

Thinks-J -to -myself, in some confusion, spout 
what? where? how? 

I soon found, however, that it only meant, 
that he should entertain us with a specimen of his 
prematuie memory and oratorical talents, by 
speaking ?t. speech. Strong solicitations were ac- 
cordingly made to little Master, to begin the re- 
quired display of his rhetorical abilities, but whe- 
ther it were on account of shyness, or indolence, 
;or sulkiness, or caprice, or, in short, merely that 
little Master was not in a spouting cue, he betray- 
ed such an obstinate repugnance to the task im- 
posed upon him, that it required all the entreaties 
of the rest of the party to induce him to make 
the smallest advances towards the exhibition pro- 
posed. Each of his sisters went down on her 
knees to coax him, while Mrs. Fidget huffed and 
coaxed, and coaxed and huffed by turns, till she 
was almost tired of it. Now promising such a 
load of sweetmeats as soon as he got home, if he 
would but begin; and in the same breath threaten- 
:»g the severest application of the rod if he did not 
iistanlly comply. At one time kissing him and hug- 
^'ng him with a * Now, do my dearest love, be a 
man and speak your speech;' at another, almost 
shaking his head off his shoulders with a * stupid 
boy! how can you be so naughty before company!' 
At last, however, upon my mother's tapping the 
pretty child under the chin, and taking him kind- 
ly by the hand, and expressing (Heaven bless her!) 
the most ardent wish and desire to be so indulged, 
he did condescend to advance into the middle of 
he room, and was upon the point of beginning, 
when Mrs. Fidget most- considerately interposed, 
^0 procure him to put his right foot a little for- 



12 

warder, with the toe more out, and to direct hini 
about the proper motion, that is, the iip-lifting 
and down -dropping of his right arm durino- tH- 
performance. One of his sisters, in the m . : 
time, seating herself near to him, for fear of anj 
accidental sHp or failure in the young gentleman's 
miraculous memory. 

His first attempt was upon Pope's Universai 
Prayevy but unfortunately, of the fourth line, he 
managed constantly to make but one word, and 
that so odd a one, that the sound but ill atoned 
for the manifest ignorance of the sensed 

Father of all in ev*ry age. 
In ev*ry clime ador'd 

By saint, by savage, and by sage, 
Jovajovalord! 

JopaJovalordJ This was the word, and^ the onlji 
word that could be got out of his mouth, andj 
Thinks-I-to-myself, it would be well if no greatei 
blunders had ever been committed with regard tc 
that insidious line; however, in consequence of 
this invincible misnomer, the Universal Prayer 
was laid by, and other pieces successively propos- 
ed, tdl it was at length unanimously determined, 
that what he shone most in, was King Lear's Ad- 
dress to the Tempest, and this was accordinglj 
fixed upon as his chef-d^ceuvre in the art of ora 
tory. 

Some preliminaries, however, in this instance 
appeared to be necessary. It was not reasona 
ble to suppose young Master could address ; 
storm without some sort of symptoms at least o 
a real storm. It was agreed upon, therefore, tha 
he should not commence his speech till he hean 
a rumbling noise proceed from the company pre 



IS 

sent, and w^ were all desired to bear our part in 
this fictitioliij thunder; how we all thundered, I 
cannot pretend to say, but so it was, that in due 
time, by the aid of such noises as we could sever- 
ally and jointly contribute, the storm began most 
nobly, when the young orator stepping forward, 
his eyes and right hand raised, and his right foot 
protuded secundum artem, he thus began: 
*'Blow winds, and cack your cheeks!" 

* Crack your cheeks, my love,' says his sister, 
in great haste and agitation; • What can you mean 
by cack your cheeks? what's that, pray?' 

* Aye, what is that,' says Mrs. Fidget; — *but I 
believe, ma'm,' adds she, turning to my mother, 
* I must make his excuses for him; you must 
know, he cannot be brought yet to pronounce an 
R, do all we can, so that he always leaves it 
quite out, as in the case of cacfc for crack, or he 
pronounces it exactly like a W. 

ThinkS'Ito-myselff many do the,Uke. 

* We choose speeches for him therefore,' con- 
tinues Mrs. Fidget, * in which there are many R's 
on purpose to conquer the difficulty, if we can; 
begin again my dear,' says she, ' and pray remem- 
ber not to leave out your R R's;' so he began 
afresh. 

" Blew winds and ciwack your cheeks!" 

* Cwacky says Mrs. Fidget, * why that is almost 
as bad, try again.' — 

" Blow winds and ctwack your cheeks! i^age 
« Wage, my dear,' says Mrs. Fidget, *do pray 
try to say rage.' 

You catau'acks and hurt^y canoes, spout 
Till you have du^enched our steeples, dtcound the cocks." 
B 



14 

« Bless me,' exclaims Mrs. Fidget, <you might 
as well not speak at all as speak so! I defy any 
body to understand what you mean by dwown'd 
the cocks!' The little gentleman however pro- 
ceeded in spite of the RR's. 

*' You sulphioous and thought executing- fires, 
Vaunt.. ..couw;iers of oak cleaving thunderbolts, 
Sing-e my white head.... and thou, all shaking- thunder, 
Sttoike fiat the thick lyotundity o' the world; 
Cwack nature's mould, all g-ermins spill at once 
That make ungrateful man. 
JT'limble thy belly-full, spit fire, spout u^ain!" 

* O dear, dear, dear,' says Mrs Fidget, * that 
will never do; wumble thy bellj-full, spit-fire, and 
spout 2£.'ain! who ever heard of such things! Bet- 
ter, my love, have done with that, and try the 
Bard,' but the Bard beginning 

*' Wmn seize the i/;uthless king!" 
put us too much in mind of • tumble your belly- 
ful I,' to be proceeded with, and therefore little 
master was at last bidden to descend from such 
flights, and try his Fable; but even his Fable, 
which happened to be the first of Gayy happening, 
most unfortunately, to begin with an R, his set- 
ting off here was as bad as ever, viz. 

*' l^emote from cities lived a swain...." 
however he got through about ten lines, making* 
as I observed, a dead pause at the end of every 
one, and not disposing very discreetly, either of 
his accerds or his stops: his delivery being as near- 
ly as possible, just as follows; his accents falling 
on the words printed in italics: and his pauses 
as noted by the perpendicular and horizontal bars: 

" His head was j s^llver'd j o'er with age. ... 

And long ex | perience j made him sage.... 



15 

His hours in | cheerful \ labour flew.,.. 
Nor Envy wor | ^[mbition'k.new." 

At the beginnino- of every couplet, I also found 
his right arm regularly went up, and precisely at 
the end and close of every rhyme came plump 
down again. Most happily at the eleventh line 
the young gentleman's miraculous memory was 
non-plus- dy and neither mamma, nor any of his 
sisters, nor either of the pug dogs could at all 
help him out. Thinks-I-to myself 'I couU\ if I 
would — but I did not.' Would you? — N B. 
There were seventy more lines to come, and an 
R in almost every one of them, and time as usual, 
flying briskly all the while. 

This stop and impediment, however, was fatal 
to the young orator's progress, and therefore, at 
last, Mrs. Fidget being rested, they all prepared 
to go. Think'-Ito-myself, now my poor mother 
will be happy again! but she, good soul, seemed 
to have got quite fond of tiiem in consequence of 
the extraordinary length of their stay: she could 
not now so easily part with them; slie was sure 
Mrs. Fidget could not be thoroughly rested: the 
clock had but just struck two: if they would but 
stay a little longer, my father would be come 
home from his ride, and he would bo greatly mor- 
tified to miss seeing them: but nothing would do: 
— go they must: Thinks-Ito-myself^ now a fig 
for your friendship, Mrs. Fidget: what, not stay 
when my niother so earnestly presses it! not stay, 
when she declares your going will mortify my 
worthy father! No — nothing would stop them; 
away they went; not, however, indeed, without 
sundry promises on their part soon to call again, 
and divers most earnest entreaties on my mo^ 
ther's, on no account to forget it. 



16 

They were scarce got out of the front-door be- 
fore my father entered: — 'Are they really all 
gone at last?' says he, ^ 1 thought they would 
have stayed till dooms-day: — Who, in the world, 
were they all?' — 'Odear,' says my mother, * why 
Mrs. Fidget and all her tribe; girls and boy, and 
two pug dogs,' < thank my stars I escaped them,' 
says my father: Thinks-I-to-myself, great symp- 
toms of mortification my dear farther shows at 
having had the misfortune to miss seeing them! 

* I declare,' says my mother; ' it is abominable to 
break in upon one in this manner: it was impossible 
to entertain such a groupe; so while Mrs Fidget 
and I were in conversation, her young people and 
the dogs had nothing to do but to tease the bird 
and dirty the furniture; that little monkey of a 
boy is always in mischief; I could freely have 
boxed his ears: I thought he would have kill'd my 
poor bird; I was in the midst of a letter to Ca- 
roline, and now it's too late for the post; how Mrs. 
Fidget can spend all her time in visiting and 
walking about in the manner she does, I cannot 
conceive: I am to take it as a great and singular 
favour, she tells me, as she always does every time 
she comes, thinking I suppose that I don't know 
she is never at home: 1 think she'll lose that boy; 
I never saw such a puny sickly child in my life:' 

Thiuks-I-to myself, — ^O poor Mrs. Fidget; 

fine stout boy of its age. 

My father, with a great deal of good breeding 
in general, was a plain blunt man in the mode 
of expressing his sentiments; so that my mother 
had scarcely finished what she had to say, but my 
father burst out—* tiresome woman,' says he, 

* she ought to be confined; — she's always wander- 



17 

ing about witli a tribe of children and dogs at her 
heels: — there's poor Mrs. Creepinouse is quite ill 
from her visits; you know what a nervous crea- 
ture she is.' , 

My father would have gone on ever so long pro- 
bably in this strain^ had not the servant entered 
with a note, which my mother immediately open- 
ed, and read aloud; the contents being to the 
following eftect 

•Mr. and Mrs. Meekin present their compli- 
menth to Mr. and Mrs. Dermont, and shall be ex- 
tremely happy to have the honour of their com- 
pany to dinner on Saturday next at five o'clock.' 

Thinks- I-to -myself, how civil, polite and oblig- 
ing the servant was ordered to withdraw, and 

tell the messenger to wait. As soon as he was 

gone, *good God, (says my father,) those people 
will never let us alone; surely we dined there last;' 
my mother thought not; — my father thought they 
were forever dining there; my mother convinced 
him by a reference to her pocket-book, that Mr. and 
Mrs. Meekin where quite right as to the balance 
of debtor and creditor; • well only take care,' says 
my father • that we do not get into a habit of din- 
ing there above once or twice a year at the utmost; 
it is really two great a sacrifice.' — * What, do you 
mean to go then?' says my mother. * Go,' says 
my father, '■ why, I suppose we must ' * I wish 
they were further," says my dear mother; — *! wish 
they were at Jericho,' says my dear father: * [ had 
rather do any thing than go on Saturday,' says my 
mother; — ' I had rather be hanged than ever go/ 
says my father, it is sucn an intolerable bore;' — 
* w^ell,' says mj mother 'the servant's waiting;'- 



18 

^iie took the pen, and away she wrote two or 
three lines in a moment; — ' there,' says she to mj 
father, * will that do?' Thinks -I-to -my self, short 
and sharp probably! my father, happily for me, 
read it aloud: — * Mr. and Mrs. Derm out return 
their compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Meekin, and 
will wait upon them with the greatest pleasure on 
Saturday next to dinner.' Tliinks-J-to-myselfi 
well done my sweftt temper'd mamma! how mild 
and how forgiving! but my father surprised me 
most; instead of throwing it into the fire as I ex- 
pected, ^le declared it would not only rfo, but do 
vastly well; he therefore sealed it himself, rang 
the bell, gave it to the servant, and desired that he 
would give their best compliments; — * and mind,* 
says he, * you ask the servant how they all do; be 
sure you make him understand.' Thlnks-I'to- 
myselft what heavenly mindedness! what chris- 
tian charity! 

I expected the servant every moment to return 
with ah account of our friend's health; but no 
such thing: my father and mother seemed to have 
quite forgot they had made th« enquiry. I ven- 
tured to remind them of the servant's neglect. 
* Ah" says my father, * my boy, you dotiHknaw 
the world.^ — Thinks- 1 tp -myself , — what's that to 
the purpose; but 1 never went further than ne- 
cessary. It seemed unaccountable to me what 
could be the nature of my father's and mother's 
sentiments and feelings, to send with such ear- 
nestness to ask how their friends did, and k ever 
want an answer; however the servant did return 
soon after to bring some sandwiches, and my mo- 
ther immediately asked him whether he had been 
careful to inquire how they all were, which the 



19 

servant answered in the affirmative: Well, Thinks- 
J-to-myself, and how are they all then? no, not a 
word further, dead or alive, it seemed to be all 
one to my father, my mother, and the servant; 
not an item aboutthe health of master or mistress, 
€on or daughter, though 1 knew there was a house 
full of them: — Thinks-Ito-myselfySLS sure as can be 
^that fellow knows something of the world: but my 
contemplations were again broken in upon by 
ithe entrance of the servant with another note, 
which my mother broke open as she had done the 
;other, and read as before. 

* Sir Henry and Lady Lydiard beg the favour 
:of Mr. and Mrs* Dermont's company to dinner, 
at five o'clock on Saturday next.' Thin/cs-I-to- 
myself what's to be done now? — * Let the man 
wait,' says my mother; * was ever any thing so 
unlucky, Mr. Dermont? had it hzit come a mo- 
ment sooner, we should have been totally disen- 
gaged;' — • the deuce take the Meekins,' says 
my father; ' what can we do?' says my mother; 
*go, by all means,' says my father, * and send 
an excuse to the others;' • but it will be so rude,* 
says my mother; ' Oh, never mind that,' says my 
father, • write a note, and I'll send it;' 'but 
what can I say,' says my mother! * O say we were 
previously engaged, and had forgot,' says my fa- 
ther: T kink S'l to -myself, what a bounce! 'Well, 
but then we must accept this invitation,' says my 
mother: * by all means,' says my father, ' we al- 
ways Imeet a pleasant party at Sir Henry's;' so 
a note was written which I neither saw nor heard, 
but I dare say it expressed great pleasure at be- 
ing completely at liberty to wait upon them, for 



20 

that seemed to )3e the reply they had agreed upon 
between themselves. 

The next thin^, was to write an excuse to the 
others: Thinks -Ltomijse/f, how will my dear 
mamma manage that! says my mother, *to be 
sure, if we can get off, it will be delightfuW 
* Get oft',' says my father, * we must get off, — 
it is bore enough in comuion to go there, but to 
give up a pleasant party at Sir Henry Lydiard's, 
to dine humdrum with die Meekins, is too much.* 
By this time my mother had made some progress 
in her note of apology. Tiiwk^- F-tn myself , to 
be sure she is telling them the exact truth, for she 
takes no time to frame any fudge or falsehood: 
well, it was soon finished, and as soon read to my 
worthy fataer, while I had the happiness to hear, 
and to treasure up the exact contents of it; they 
were, 1 apprehend, precisely as follows: 

'Mr. and Mrs. Dermont present their compli- 
ments to Mr. and Mrs. Meekin. Sive extr-emely sor- 
ry and concerned to be under the necessity of in- 
forming them, that when they answered their 
obliging and kind invitation for Saturday, they 
had, by accident, forgotfpn a previous engagement 
to dine at Sir Henry Lydiard's, which will entirely 
prevent them the great pleasure they had pro- 
mised themselves of dining on that day at Meekin 
Place. They hope another time to be more fortunate 
as it is with extreme regret they feel compelled to 
send this excuse.' 

Thinks-I to myself y Lord, have mercy upon 
me, how well my dear mother seems to know the 
worldi I actually began to be alarmed; I loved 
both my father and mother sincerely; I had judged 
th^m to be above all deceit, and yet what was I 



21 

to think now? I pondered and ruminated upon it 
a good deal, when the servant entered a third 
time: 'Ma'am,' says he, * there's some company 
coming down the avenue, will you please to be at 
home? Thinks- I'to-myself, please to be at home? 
why, where else can she please to be? * O,' says 
my father hastily, * mst at Jioine, not at home, un- 
less it should be so an4.so', and so and so,^ enume- 
rating rapidly a seleef list oAvorthies As there 
was a necessity for the carriage to pass the win- 
dow of the room where we were sitting in, and it 
was too near to admit of our going^ elsewhere, my 
father and mother got both behind a great skreen, 
while I was hastily hurried up into a nook by the 
book-case: Thinks- I-to -myself y I suppose this is 
being not at home! as the servant had inadvert- 
ently left the door open, I observed that it was 
judged necessary, for fear of discovery, to stifle 
all sorts of natural or other noises, even to the 
inhalation and exhalation of the breath of life, so 
that my father stood with his pocket-handkerchief 
stufted into his mouth, and my mother with her 
lips pressed close and flat against the back of the 
skreen, while I poked mine as well as I could 
behind the book-case, whence a little dust seem- 
ed to arise, that made me fear greatly that a 
sneeze would be inevitable; while we were thus 
grouped, expecting every moment that the carri- 
age would drive oft', in came the servant with two 
of the finest ladies in the neighbourhood, who ac- 
tually discovered my father and mother behind 
the skreen, and who were obliged accordingly to 
come out, which they contrived to do with the 
greatest apparent delight, so that /of course ap- 
prehended the visitors must be some of the so 



22 

and so*s that were doomed to be admitted: * I was 
sure you were at home/ said they, and so they 
might well be, for another servant whom they had 
met in the avenue, had told them so, as it turned 
out in the end: * we could not think who it was,' 
says my mother, *Jia(|^ we had the least idea of its 
bein^ you, we shSS^have bWlTJt home of course, 
but we had intendetl t^ t|j^^)ribody else. 

I would have given an^flilng to have known 
enough of the world to have determined whether 
I ought to come out of my hiding place or not, 
for my father and mother, in their confusion, had 
quite forgotten me, and the company had managed 
to seat themselves so as to be wholly incapable of 
investigating the contents of the nook in which I 
happened to stand. Thinks-1-to -myself, they talk 
so loud, 1 may at least breathe more freely, but at 
length, what I was most afraid of, actually befel 
me; some dust, or some smoke, or some sunshine, 
or something or other, or the mere expectation 
and alarm of it, got up my nose, and so affected 
the olfactory and other nerves of that noble or- 
gan, as to produce an indispensable necessity of 
taking some measures to stifle the storm of sneeze 
with which I seemed to be threatened; unfortu- 
nately, I had not time to go to my pocket, so that 
I was obliged to let it all depend upon the weak 
resistance to be produced by the interposition of 
my five fin;;ers, which having, as every body 
knows, as many interstices as there are fingers, 
had no other effect but that of ramifying and di- 
viding the noise into as many parts as there were 
fingers, so that out it all came five-fold louder 
than there was any natural necessity for; the 
sounds, besides being severally of a description 



23 

by no means fit for the refined ears of a courtly 
company; the effect was such as might be expect-, 
ed; the two strangers were nearly thrown from 
their seats by the shock and alarm of so unex- 
pected a salute, while my father and mother were 
little less surprised, and at the same time much 
more confused; 1 was of course obliged to come 
out, and an attempt was made to laugh the matter 
off, but one of the ladies was really so alarmed as 
to be near fainting, and though she made every 
effort to seem to forgive me, yet I was sure by her 
looks that she wished me dead, or worse, if possi- 
ble; they took the earliest opportunity afterwards 
of ordering their carriage to the door, and as they 
quitted the house, 1 secretly gave them my bless- 
injj; it then came to my knowledge, that instead 
of being any one of the so and so^s that had a fair 
claim to be admitted, my poor father and mother 
would as willingly have seen the witch of Endor, 
and that the whole visit had been the effect of ac- 
cident and blunder. 

But what made it worse, was, that as they got 
into the carriage, some still more disagreeable 
people came to the door, at that very instant, 
whom it became therefore an equal matter of im- 
possibility to refuse, and who were accordingly 
forced upon us for a fuil hmvy^Thinks-I-to my- 
self, nothing can exiceed the patience of my dear 
father and mother, when I saw them bow and 
courtesy to these additional guests, expressing joy 
rather than sorrow at their untimely visit, and 
giving them every other testimony of a hearty 
welcome. These were new comers into the neigh- 
bourhood, and it was the return of their first visit. 
My father and mother knew as much of them, and 



24 

they of ray father and mother, as the Emperor of 
China knows of the Cherokee Indians. They 
were not in that elevated rank of life that ex- 
cites confidence even amongst strangers, nor did 
they appear to have much more knowledge of the 
world in general, than myself; I did not think it 
worth my while to stay very long in the room af- 
ter their arrival, having no great prospects either 
of edification or amusement from the conversation 
of t!ie whole groupe taken together. Mrs. Fidget 
and her party, with the fine ladies whom I was 
near sneezing into fits, had plenty to say for 
themselves, but the gentleman and lady that had 
succeeded to them, seemed to have not much larger 
a vocabulary at their command than a poll-parrot. 
The utmost efforts of my father and mother to get 
them to make a few advances of themselves towards 
conversation, seemed entirely to fail; — so that all 
that was uttered was by starts and jumps, with 
long intervals of dead silence; — as the sun was 
shining full into the room, and had been so all the 
morning, my mother ventured to remark^ that *it 
was a beautiful day,' to which they both assented; ^ 
— * but rather too warm,' says my father; — * rather' 
too warm certainly,' said they both at once: and \ 
a dead silence followed. * Are you fond of the 
country?' sayS my father; ' very fond,' said they 
both, and another dead silence ensued. — * Are you 
a sportsman?' said my father; * No;' says he, and a 
dead silence—' Are you any thing of a farmer?* 
•No;' dead silence. — • Are you fond of fishing?' 

• No;' and another dead silence; — while exactly in 
the same manner was my mother engaged in 
pumping the lady: — ♦Are you a great walker?' 

• Yes,' and a dead silence. — * Do you draw at all?' 



25 

* Noj' and a dead silence. — * How many young 
folks have your' * five;' and a dead silence. Thinks- 
Ilo-myself, surely they tancy they are beinj^ tried 
for their lives! I could bear it no longer, but found 
means to depart, and yet I learnt afterwards 
that they had the conscience to pay quite as long 
a visit as if they been the most agreeable people 
in the world. 

It was from such scenes as these, continually 
repeated, that 1 acquired the habit I speak of, — 
of soliloquy and suppressed remarks: often have 
I wished to get the better of it since I have been 
grown up, but it still haunts me, — for every ten 
words that 1 utter out aloud, twenty, or forty, per- 
haps, are mumbled in silence to myself; the worst 
of it is, that though nobody can have been more 
disposed than myself, from my very childhood, to 
love my fellow-creatures, my mental remarks, 
spite of my teeth, will be continually suggesting 
something bad or ridiculous concerning them: I 
have detected such deliberate falsehoods, such at- 
troQJous inconsistences, such barefaced hypocrisy, 
such base dissimulation, that often my very hair 
has stood an end, when I felt a * tliinks-Itu- my- 
self coming upon me. 

As I have been a dutiful and most affectionate 
son, the reader may easily suppose my concern 
was not small to gather this mortifying experience 
of the ways of the world most immediately and 
expressly, indeed, for some time, solely from the 
conduct of my beloved parents, for it was from 
them that i first learnt that it was possible to be 
extremely happy to have the pleasure of seeing 
the most tiresome people in the world! that it was 
possible to be much mortified at being prevented 

C 



26 

the hapjnness of dining with a whole heap of m- 
sufffrabte bores; that it could be necessary ta 
hope to ht favoured or honoured with the compa* 
ny of persons, whom, in our hearts, we thoroughly 
wished at Jericho. 1 hese things induced me to 
say, at the beginning of my book, that I believe I 
was born of honest parents: — honest I really think 
they were, only that their honesty was mixed up 
with a large quaii^ty of dishonesty; that is, they 
were as honest as it is possible for people to be, who 
can be happy to be made miserable; pleased with 
disagreeables; mortified by what is delightful; who 
can hope for what they most dread; ask as a fa- 
vour what they would give the world not to re- 
ceive, and accept with great pleasure what they 
would give the world to decline, I was uneasy, 
as I have said, as long as these discoveries all 
tended to the reproach of my beloved parents. 
Surely, Thinks-J-to-myself I am born of a race of 
hypocrites and deceivers. There cannot be a 
molecule of honesty left in the whole current of 
the blood of the Dermonts! many uneasy days 
and nights I passed in endeavouring to think bet- 
ter of people I loved so much; but it was long 
Jjefore I had any fair opportunity of being at all 
undeceived, and perhaps I never should, had not 
it been for a little bit of stratagem, which, upon 
any less occasion, I should have disdained. 

bne day when I was sitting with my mother, as 
usual, but a considerable time after the scene I 
have been describing, the identical party I have 
before spoken of, came again; — videlicet, Mrs. 
and Miss Fidgets, the troublesome child, and the 
two pugs, Jigain was Mrs. Fidget delighted to 
see my mother, and my mother ner: again^ did 



27 

the one intend it as a great and singular favour, 
and again did the other receive it as s\}c\\;^again 
was the troublesome child^ instead of getting his 
ears boxed, as I thought he deserved, pronounced 
to be a sweet child^ and a very fine hoy of his age, 
though in reality as puny and sickly as my mother 
really thought him when he was with us last; 
again were the dirty |?w^s admired and caressed; 
again were they pressed to stof^longer, thanked 
for their kindness, and urged to come again: 
Thinks-Ito myself^ what can all this mean? Is my 
mother that downright hypocrite, that artful de- 
ceiver, deliberately to impose upon all her friends 
in this manner; and are they all such silly dupes 
as to be so easily taken in? Thinks Ito-myself, I 
know what I'll do; so I jumped up from my seat, 
hastily quitted the room, and ran into a field near 
the house, which happened to be separated from the 
avenue by a high and thick hawthorn hedge, which 
continued a considerable v/ay, and where I knew I 
should bfrable to hear all the friendly remarks of 
the company as they quitted Grumblethorpe Hall. 
I had not been long there before out came the 
whole groupe, and as good luck would have it, 
they came quite near enough to me to admit of 
my receiving into my poor innocent ears, every 
soft and gentle expression that fell from their 
amiable tongues. * Thank my stars,* says the 
worthy Mrs. Fidget, * that visit's over! we need 
not go there again, for some time; it is all so formal 
and so prim, one's half afraid to open one's mouth:' 
•Poor little Tommy, how do you like that old la- 
dy.' * Not at all' says the pretty child; 'Nor I 
neither, my dear,' says Mrs. Fidget; * nor I nei- 
ther,' says Miss Fidget; * nor 1,' says Miss Ma- 



28 

tikla < nor I,* says little Miss Nancy; * what a 
strange creature,* adds Mrs. Fidget, ' is that hope- 
ful son of hers! he never speaks a word; [ believe 
he's an ideot! and yet to see the foolish fondness 
and credulity of parents, I verily believe they 
fancy him wise enough to be Prime Minister, but 
he'll die I think: — he's as thin as a tiiread paper, 
and looks for all the world in thatblac ; jacket of 
his, like a half starved chimney sweeper. Did you 
see how he muttered something to himself as he 
went out of the room? It will be a great mercy if 
he is taken out of the world, for it is a shame for 
such clod poles to be born to such an inheritance: 
here Matilda, we must turn down here; I may as 
well go and see old Mrs. Creepmouse now I 
am so near, and then we shall bave killed two birds 
with one stone.' 

ThinkS'I to myself , so you will, Mrs. Fidget, 
or perhaps three: for she seemed to have taken 
pretty good aim at myself as well as at my mother, 
and old Mrs. Creepmouse, and I confess I felt so 
utterly astonished and confounded, that I did not 
quite know whether I stood on my head or my 
heels; however, the first thing that struck me wasj 
that my poor dear parents were quite exonerated: 
Thinks ItomysAf, it all comes of their knowing 
the world! no, there's nothing in it beyond self- 
defence. Mrs. Fidget's singular favour and pro- 
digious friendship is evidently no better than a 
deliberate attempt to kill my poor mother with 
the same stone she kills Mrs. Creepmouse, and 
to rejoice all the way home at having done it ef- 
fectually. I returned to the house, heartily glad 
to have made so successful an experiment, though 
instead of curing me of my malady, I plainly saw 



29 

it would increase it abominably. I went back to 
my motlier, and as might naturally be expected, 
found her as much delighted to be left alone again, 
as the Fidgets were to get away. I was almost 
tempted to say, do you know that you and Mrs. 
Creepmouse have both been by this time killed by 
one stone? but I must have, by doing so, betrayed 
my plan of listening, which I had great reason 
to think would have excited her displeasure; for 
she had always discouraged it as a matter of great 
impertinence, great disingenuousness, and great 
meanness both in myself and my sister, adding the 
old proverb, that ' listeners never hear any good 
of themselves,' which I had pretty well found to 
be true, in the compliment paid by the lovely Mrs. 
Fidget to my poor thread -paper form, chimney* 
sweeping-jacket, and clod-pole. 

It would be impossible to recount but the hun- 
dredth-thousandth part of the strange scenes to 
which 1 was witness, and the strange remarks 
they suggested, before I was grown up to be a man: 
but most of them till then were of a nature I 
have alluded to. My enmity to Mrs. Fidget soon 
wore off as 1 made greater progress in the know- 
ledge of the world. I soon found that Mrs. Creep- 
mouse could just as willingly have killed Mrs. 
Fidget, as Mrs. Fidget could have killed Mrs. 
Creepmouse, and that in the true way of visiting, 
the more havoc and destruction one stone could 
make, the better to all parties, I soon found that 
people were troublesome to each other by settled 
compact treaty, and agreement, not signed, seal- 
ed and delivered indeed in any form, but con- 
cluded to be so, and therefore never to be violated. 
I soon found that none were duped, none really 

C2 



30 

taken in, none really deceived :— that *I am ex- 
tremely happy to see you,' meant no more in re- 
ality than, 'that I am come because I could not 
help it,' and that ' pray stay longer,' implied little 
else than ' I wish you were gone,' or some such 
eleo-ant valediction: — still I could not break my- 
self of my soliloquies; they were for ever recur- 
ring : — in the mean time, I tried to be as civil and 
decent as 1 could in my reflections: — ThinkS'I- 
to-mifself, that's a lie! never once passed the very 
threshold of my thoughts; — but when any thing 
very contrary to tiie truth seemed to strike me, 
especially where ladies were concerned, the ut- 
most asperity of thought indulged, was no greater 
than, Tninksl to-myself, that's a bounce; — or a 
fib; — or a hum; — and so on. 

1 have never yet told the reader, though Mrs. 
Fidget in the avenue had nearly let the cat out of 
the bag, that I was born to a considerable inheri- 
tance and a title; my father through his mother, 
who was the daughter of a Scotch Earl, being 
heir after the death of a distant female relation, 
to a Scotch Barony. — You maybe pretty sure that 
all this was not unknown to many of the visitors 
at Grumblethorpe Hall; and that the poor clod- 
pole was an object of interest to others besides 
my worthy parents: in the very next parish lived 
a gentleman and lady, who had inherited an over- 
grown fortune from a most distinguished ances- 
tor, namely, John Twist, Esq. the great tobacco- 
nist: seventy or eighty thousand pounds were no- 
thing: — they were thought to have got from him 
in all as much as three or four hundred thousand, 
,with which they had purchased a magnificent seat 
in the neighbourhood, and unluckily for me, their 



31 

lands joined my father's;— I wish every acre of it 
had been in Nova Zenvila. These j^ood folks 
happened, as is generally the case, I think, not to 
be overburthened with children; — had they been 
day labourers, they would have had a hundred: — 
hut all their progeny was one only daughter; — 
heiress of course in the eye of the world to all 
the leavings of the rich tobacconist. 

My father, God bless him, was not covetous, 
but he knew that a title brought with it large and 
ungovernable expenses; — he had no more pride 
than he had covetousness, and I believe would as 
willingly have seen the expected Barony branch 
suddenlyofffrom the main stem of his inheritance, 
into ever so distant a collateral ramification, as 
come down either perpendicularly or zigzag ex- 
actly upon his head; but come it would; — and who 
could help it? while the lands originally attached 
to it were expected, some of them to stick to the 
earldom, which went into another line, and some 
to an elder barony, and some to this, and that, 
and t'other, till nothing but an empty coronet 
seemed left to my poor father: — his own estate 
was excellent for a private gentleman, but he did 
not like this poor Barony that was coming down 
to make him more conspicuous. 

Miss Grizilda Twist was just three years 
younger than myself; all the pains that were pos- 
sible had been taken to make her extremely disa- 
greeable; she had been indulged from infancy in 
every whim and caprice that could enter her weak 
mind, and overloaded with accomplishments that 
filled her head with conceit; she was abominably 
proud, as might be expected, and by no means of 
an amiable temper: — I would describe her person, 



S2 

but it may seem invidious; — for, perhaps, many 
more amiable persons may jointly or severally, 
have similar features, and as I mean that eVery 
body in the world shall read this book, I wish to 
give no personal offence to any. I leave you all 
therefore, gentle readers, to guess whether her 
hair was black, brown, or bright red; — whether 
her eyes were hazle, blue, or emerald green; — 
whether her nose was Roman, Grecian, Aquiline, 
or turned up in front with large open nostrils;— 
whether her teeth were ivory-white and even, or 
black and jagged: I will fairly say, I did not my- 
self admjre her person, but nothing more: Ladies 
are ladies, 

One day, as my father and myself were walking 
round the grounds, he began about the peerage 
that was likely to come to us: says he, • Bob you 
know you are to be a lord;' * I have heard so, Sir,' 
says I: * SQ much the worse, my boy,' says he; 
* certainly, Sir,' says I, (for I never contradicted 
him:) but, Thinks- I-to -my self y&W the while — Why 
so? ^You know, 1 suppose,' says he, 'that no es- 
tate comes with it?' *Not till you told me Sir,^ 
says I: * A title without an estate is a sad incum-, 
brance,' says he; I assented, though I cared hq' 
more about it, than the man in the moon. *Thi^ 
roperty is great enough in its way,' added my 
kther, 'but not sufficient for a Peer;'— I forgef 
what reply I made to this, for just at that moment 
be turned his right leg over the upper bar of th« 
stile, and there he sat. Tiiinks-I to myself y 
^ We'll ride a cock horse, to Banbury Cross;' 
What in the world makes him sit so? Says my 
father, slapping his left thigh * this leg, Bob, is ii 
Grumblethorpe domains:' Thinks-I- to- myself hel 



I 



33 

going mad! then slapping his right thigh, — in 
what domain is this leg, Bob? Thinks- I-to-ni self, 
he foams at the mouth! however he went on:— 
I* This stile, Bob, jou must know, exactly divides 
our property from Mr. Twist-s.' I was delighted 
to hear him talk like a rational creature again: he 
looked at me, however, as if still waiting for a 
reply, though I had said, ' does it, Sir?' or * yes,' 
lor some such thing in answer already: he repeated 
the remark. Thinks-I-io-mysetf,—\S'hsLt can my 
father mean? * Many estates. Bob,' continues he, 

* pass down straight forward through a long, long 
line of lineal descendants; some go off at right an- 
gles one knows not where, for want of children to 
succeed;— some gently and smoothly glide into 
other families as by adoption, sale, or marriage;^ 
he again made a solemn pause. Thinks- 1 tO' 
myself, what next; — * What a pity,' says he, * Bob, 
that poor Mr. Twist should have no son.'— I said 
not a word: — *a daughter,'' continues he, * must 
carry it all into some other family;' I said nothing; 

* I suppose,' says he, • there's many a young man 
looking out for Miss Twist:' — Thinks-I-to myself , 
let em look!' Just at this moment we were inter- 
rupted. My father was called home to some per- 
sons who wanted him upon business; so recom- 
mending it to me to continue my walk on the 
Twist side of the stile, he quitted me and re- 
turned to the house. 

The Twist side of the stile was the way to the 
vicarage. There were none of the neighbours I 
had liked better than the family there. Mr. and 
Mrs. Mandeville were most amiable and worthy 
people, and not being over rich, had a large fami- 
ly: some of the boys had been occasionally my 



34 

playmates, as the (laughters had at times visited 
mj sister. I found myself got very near to theii 
gate before I was aware even of my own designs, 
It happened, that in my ignorance of the world, 
as it's called, I was in some points as much unac- 
quainted with myself ds with other people. I had 
long perceived that the vicarage was the onlyj 
house I really liked to visit. I had also perceivedj 
but I could not quite account for it, that wherir 
Emily Mandeville, which was the name of the 
eldest daughter, either went out of the room, oi 
came into the room, spoke to me, or 1 spoke tc 
her, I had the qneerest sensation about the regioi 
of my heart 't that could be conceived. It seemec 
to beat and bump ten times quicker than com^ 
mon. Thinksl-to myself it's St. Vitus's danceJ 

Tliege symptoms 1 knew to be greatly and ra- 
pidly increasing, so that I had a great mind to ask 
the apothecary about it: we bad always been great 
and particular friends. Whether her heart bump- 
ed as much as mine I had never yet asked her,-^ 
but she alv/ays appeared happy in my company: 
her temper was the sweetest in the world, and as 
to her person, 1 certainly need be under no such; 
scruples as I was about Miss Twist's, if I could 
but describe it: for let all the females in the world 
read my book, none of them could wish to be 
more elegantly beautiful than Emily Mandevilies 
every one w?»uld of course desire to resemble her 
in voice, and feature, form and gait: let every one^ 
therefore, only fiincy her as beautiful and amiable 
and lovely as themselves, and I need say na 
more. Thiriks-I-to-myself, that's enough. 

I found Mrs. Mandeville and her daughters all 
busily engaged: some working, some reading, and 



35 

^me drawing. Mr. Mandeville, though not rich^ 
:)r over well endowed, had in his early days kept 
uchgood company,as had Mrs. Mandeville also, 
) that, in a simple and plain manner, every thing 
id an air of elegance;--there was no vulgarity; 
irerv thing was equally distant from a vain dis- 
ay'of finery, and a shabby meanness. Mr. Man- 
jville had travelled, and was well acquainted 
jth with books and men. He had a fixed and 
oted respect and reverence for every thing con- 
»cted with religion, without the smallest tincture 
' enthusiasm or bigotry. He was, perhaps, al- 
Igether, the most polished man in the neighbour- 
)od, though many looked down upon him from 
)ove; while from below every body looked up to 
im; that is, the poor all loved and respected him, 
tr they knew the man; the rich knew in general 
tily his office: some were too great in tkeir own 
snceits to associate with a country vicar, and 
bme were of too mean capacity to be even capa- 
le of associating with him. As for my father 
hd mother, I must say, they thoroughly under- 
tood his worth, and in their intercourse vzith him, 
can venture to assert, thought of nothing else. 
ly father found him much ia,bove the common 
un of his country associates, and my mother 
>und in Mrs. Mandeville, a friend she could 
rust; for she was free from vanity, and disdained 
II parade of forms and pretensions. 

During my visit at the vicarage the morning I 
m speaking of, something led us to advert to onr 
reat neighbours, the Twists. Mrs. Mandeville 
bserved, that Miss Twist was extremely accom- 
ilished;— that she had had masters of all descrip- 
ions, and of course, iiiust have learnt a great 



36 

deal: 1 confess it surprised me always to hear an^ 
body speak well of the absent, and therefore 
('though as for poor Miss Twist, I abominatec 
her) yet I heartily joined in the encomiums, 
agreed with Mrs. Mandeville in all she said, fo 
how could I do otherwise? Miss Twist had ha( 
many masters, and therefore might naturally bi 
expected to know much; far more than I though 
it necessary for her to know: — she had learnt m 
know not what. — music, dancing, painting, thes< 
were common vulgar accomplishments:— -she ha< 
attained a world of fashionable lectures and wa 
therefore supposed to understand Chemistry, Ge 
ologj, Phiiolugy, and a hundred other ologies, foi 
wi>at I know, enough, as I thought, to distract hei 
brain; however, I observed that when I agreed s( 
much with Mrs. Mandeville, my dear friend Emi 
ly, suddenly arose and quitted the -room: Thinks^ 
Lto-myselfy she's gone to fetch her thimble, oi4 
her scissors, or something or other, but I imme4 
diately felt that bumping at my heart of which I 
have spoken, come on so much, that 1 wished Miss 
Twist and all her accomplishments at the bottom 
of the sea. — As it was growing late, I found itne-j 
cessary to depart, and therefore getting up anc 
shaking them all by the hand, I wished them goo( 
mornina-, adding, a*s I shook the last hand of th< 
interesting groupe, pray tell Emily i wish hei 
good bye,-- which brought back all the bumping 
to so great a degree, that as I walked away 
coulu scarce move or breathe.-— TTiinfcs-J-fo-my- 
self, its certainly an apothecary's concern. 1 
must ask Mr. Bolus about it, as sure as can be, in 
a day ©r two. . .; 

Vyiien 1 got home, 1 found that among the visi- 



S7 

tors that had been at the hall that morning, were 
Mr., Mrs., and Miss Twist, and her governess: I 
I thought my father and mother seemed somewhat 
1 concerned that T had been out of the way, but re- 
proof I received none. They appeared to be in 
no manner displeased that 1 had been at the vi- 
carage — but the visit of the Twists, I found, had 
ended in an invitation, particularly extending to 
myself. 

We were in three days from that time, to go to 
dine at JSTicotium Castle, On the morning of the 
day we were to dine there, I found my mother 
prone to dwell upon the beauties of JSTicotium 
Castle: — what a delightful place it was, adding 
also, as Mrs. Mandeville had done, what an ac' 
complished girl Miss Twist was: how very learned 
and how very clever! It is amasing what relief I 
felt to the bumping at my heart, whenever the 
conversation took this turn; so that I began to 
take a pleasure in talking of Miss Twist. I 
was so easy and comfortable the moment her name 
was mentioned, that any body could have been 
encouraged to go on with it: had Emily Mande- 
ville been mentioned, my malady would have re- 
turned so immediately, that no doubt the con- 
versation would have stopped at once: but this 
never happened. Nobody thought of mentioning 
her to me, and I could have died upon the spot 
sooner than have mentioned her name to any bod j 
else. 

The day came for our visit to Nicotium Castle. 
Thinks-I-to-myselfy I'll ask if I mayn't dine at the 
vicarage; so at breakfast I humm'd and haw'd 
and ventured to say, ' I had rather be excused go« 
ing to Nicotium Castle.' My father looked blacki 



S8 

my mother looked, I know not how: Thinks-T-to- 
myself, it don't seem agreeable. « You cannot 
with propriety stay at home,' says my father, * be- 
cause you were so particularly invited:' TJiinks- 
l-to-myself, what if I say I had the misfortune to 
be previously engaged.' so says I, as bold as brass, 
* but I was previously engaged to dine at the Vi- 
carage!' * Previously engaged!' says my dear mo- 
ther, 'that cannot be: it would be a great act of 
rudeness to put off the Twists with an excuse 
like that.' Thinks- l4o-myself I dont know 
enough of the world to understand the exact na- 
ture of these put-offs. My father said, * I must 
go;' — I made therefore no further objections.-*-. 

The hour came, and away we went. Every 
thing at the Castle was most splendid. There 
was every sort of rarity: every thihg that it was 
not easy to get: I would have given the world to 
have sat by my dear mother, but as accident would 
have it, I got exactly between Miss Twist and 
her Governess. Tkinks-Ito myself I hope she 
won't ask me about any of the ologies: as it hap- 
pened she did not; but she talked to me very of- 
ten; offered me abundance of nice things, and as 
for Mr. and Mrs. Twist, nothing could possibly 
exceed their attention. Tliinks-I to-myself, a fig 
for Mrs. Fidget: Clod -pole is somebody of conse- 
quence at last! In the evening, as more company 
came;wefound thatit was to end in a ball. I would 
have given ever so much to have danced with 
my father or mother: — not that I was so ignorant 
as not to knov/ that this was impossible, but I felt 
so inexpressibly^ shy as to dancing with any body 
else.— Tiiinks'I-to-my self Til go and sit with the 
fiddlers: but unhappily, just as I was going, Mr. 



39 

Twist came behind me — 'Youn^ Gentleman,' 
says he, *you must open the Ball viith rny daugh- 
ter:' Thinks- Lto -my self, if I must, I m-ust: — so 
away I went, up to the top of about twenty cou- 
ple. 

I had learnt plenty of Latin and Greek of my 
tutor, but as for dancing, I knew but little of it: 
Thinks- I-to -myself, 1 wish I were a cow, or a 
sheep; for if ever thetj dance, they are not par- 
ticular about steps; whereas I scarce seenied to 
know whether I was to begin with my heels or my 
toes: — however, away we went, and with a tittle 
pulling, and hauling, and pushing, and shoving, I 
got at last to the bottom of the room: Miss Twist 
twisted in and out so adroitly, that we happily 
arrived at our journey's end, without any lives 
lost, or limbs broke, though I thought all seemed 
to be in danger: * Pray,* says Miss Twist, ' don't 
engage yourself to any body else;' Thinks-I-to- 
myself, I wish I could: in the mean time, all the 
young men in the room I observed came to ask 
ber to dance, but she was engaged for the whole 
evening to Mr. Robert Dermont: Thhiks-LtO' 
myself, I'll let you off! but nothing would do; I . 
was fixed for the evening; and at supper, had to 
preside with the amiable heiress of the castle, at 
the second table. Thinks- 1 to myself, I wish I 
was at home, and abed, and asleep; however, at 
last, the entertainment happily came to an end, 
and away we all went. 

As we were upon our return, my mother ob- 
jserved how much 1 had been honoured in having 
had Miss Twist for a partner, — intimating, that 
all the other young men that were there, envied 
me. Thinks- J-to-mysetf, well they might; but 



'g.j 



] 

another time, I had rather thej than me| however,) 
luckily 1 escaped all my bumping at, the heart:] 
Emily Mandeville was not of the party. Mr. and ; 
Mrs. Twist's invitations did not extend to the 
vicarage; but what was particularly provoking,] 
when I got to bed at night, I felt a great bumping 
because she was not there, lliinks-l'to-myself, 
must certainly take some physic. 

The very day after the ball, Mrs. and Miss 
Twists called upon my mother again. Much of 
the conversation, of course, turned upon the com- 
pany that had met together the night before. Mrs. 
Twist expressed great satisfaction that her daugh- 
ter had had so proper a partner, * I don't like her to 
dance, madam,' says she, * but with people of fami- 
ly!' Thinks- I-to -myself t — * You know, Bob, you're 
to be a lord!' and now it's out! I began now to 
have some suspicion how the land lay, as they 
say: — I began now to discern, that the Twists 
knew something about the stile as well as my fa- 
ther. Thinks- I-to -my self i as sure as can be, they 
are inclined to replenish my empty coronet, and 
interweave a few leaves of tobacco with the Ba- 
ronial balls; however, nothing of all this was suf- 
fered to pass my lips. 1 looked upon it as a good 
scheme, and admirably calculated to cure my bump- 
ing of heart: for, Thinks- I-to myself ^ it is im- 
possible I could pass my life with Emily Mande- 
ville, since my heart bumps so dreadfully, even 
at a distance. 

It was amazing the number of civilities and 
invitations that passed between! Nicotium Castle 
and Grumblethorpe Hail. They were continually 
coming to us, or we going to them. Mrs. Twist 
was alway^s talking of people of family; my fa- 



41 

th«r and mother alv/ays lamenting to me the ex- 
Ipectations of the unendowed Bai'ony. All tliis 
j while T continued ill the habit of visiting at the 
[vicarage, though my heart bumped so excessively, 
whenever I was there, that 1 thought I must en- 
tirely give it up. 

One day, as I was walking in the garden with 
Mrs. Mandeville and the females of the family, it 
«ame into ray head that Emily would like to have 
a beautiful moss-rose that I had just gathered: 
Thinks- I-to-myself, I'll go and stick it in her bo- 
som: — at that very moment, 1 had such an ex- 
traordinary seizure of the bumping at my heart, 
that I was ready to drop; but what appeared to me 
more strange was, that I could notgo to her, do what 
I would; for the first time in my life, I felt a sort of 
<lread of her. While Mrs- Mandeville had been 
questioning me about the ball at Nicotium Castle, 
a little before I thought she looked displeased with 
me, and when I expected it of her as dL friend that 
she would have liked to hear ©f the notice that 
had been taken of me, I observed she walked quite 
away: — I had never quarrelled with her in all my 
life, nor she with me: — I would have done any 
thing to have served her, or pleased her; and now 
that I felt afraid of her, I still seemed to want to 
serve her and please her more than ever: Tliinks- 
I-to myself, certainly I am bewitched; — soon af- 
ter, she came up to us of her own accord: Tliinks- 
I'to-myself now I'll give the rose: so 1 went to 
her with it,and was going to offer it, but my tongue 
suddenly got so perfectly dry in my mouth, that 
I'll behang'd if I could speak a word. Thinks-Lto- 
myself, I am certainly going to die. 1 was so 
frightened, I got away as soon after as I could; 

D2 



4£ 

but the bumplngj continued all the way hoirjc,| 
nyorse, I think, than ever. I was afraid to tell myl 
mother of it, because I knew she would send for; 
Mr. Bolus, and that alwa3rs ended in such severe^ 
and long-continued discipline, generally beginning , 
with an emetic, which tore me to pieces, that I al- 
ways kept my maladies to myself as long as l! 
could. 

As my sister was just come, I asked her about 
it, but she only laughed at me, though I could nol 
tell wh}^: I got into my father's library one morn- 
ing, in order to try if I could find my case in an}' 
of the physical books there, of which he had a 
store: I looked into a good many, just running; 
over the symptoms of each, which caught my eye, 
as being in capital letters, thus, symptoms, — and 
it is past all conception, what a variety of dis- 
eases I seemed to have; for to look for bumping^ 
only was nothing; the more I read, the more 
symptoms I detected; — I was not aware of a hun- 
dredth part of what I suffered, till the book sug- 
gested them; — I plainly saw my case to be (at 
least I thought so then) a complication of all the 
classes, orders, genera, and species of disease^ % 
that had ever afflicted the race of man. As I 
went along, and questioned myself as to the several 
symptoms of the different disorders as laid dowii 
in the hook, I found 1 had not only bumpings, but 
dreadful pains in my head and loinsy with a imari' 
'ness of limbs, stretchings yawning, shivering, and 
shaking, which are pretty plain signs, as any bo- 
dy must allow, of an approaching fever. I had a 
rigour or chillness, pains in my back, difficulty of 
hreaihing. I had a violent pricking pain in one 
?jf the sides, deep down among my ribs, which was 



43 

manifestly a pleurisy or peripneumonyy I could 

not exactly discern which: I had \'io\ent fiushings 

in the facey disturbed sleep, and a singing in my 

ears, which seemed to me to indicate a phrenitis: 

I had a painful tension on the right side also, just 

opposite the pricking pain on my left, under the 

false ribs, which I knew at once to be a disorder- 

jcd liver; in short, I kept looking and looking, till 

jl was evidently convinced, that 1 had not a sound 

ipart about me, and I should, I am persuaded, have 

taken to my bed and died, to the great joy of Mrs. 

Fidget, if it had not been that I had rather wished 

to die. Ever since Emily Mandeville had looked 

1 grave at me, I had felt as bold as a lion about 

((lying, and I will venture to say, could have reso- 

I lutely walked into the very arms of old Dry -bones 

with his hour-glass, had I but met him any where 

in my walks. 

[ I did, however, take a little medicine, by advice 

of the books, picked up here and there, I managed, 

to buy sor.ie ipecacuanhuy asafoetida, Glauber*s 

] salt, and compound tincture of Senna, which mix- 

I ing up with a small parcel of jalap, and some succo- 

i trine aloes, (not very regularly, I confess, for I 

iknew nothing of the proper proportions) I took a 

i tea-spoonful night and morning, for three days, 

i which so effectually moved my stomach, as to give 

ime, as T thought, the fairest chance of recovery; 

however, not so: 1 could not reach the bumping after 

all, which occurred so instantaneously upon the 

; smallest recollection of Emily Mandeville, that had 

shebeen old and ugly, or had she ever been seen in 

i the air on a broom, must have convinced me, that 

I she was the exact person thai; had bewitched me. 

I I continued in this state for some days after my 

i 



44 

sister's return home; during' which time, Miss 
Twist came often to see her in her carriage, and 
Emily Mandeville once on foot: [ could plainly 
perceive, that though the latter did not at all 
mind coming on foot, the former was very proud 
indeed of coming in her carriage: but what was 
odd, even this diS'erence between the two, as soon 
I perceived it, brought on the bumping at my 
heart; JTiinlcs I-to-myselfi Emily shall ride in her 
carriage too. 

I know not how long T might have remained in 
this miserable uncertain stat:e, had it not been for 
the most unlooked-for accident, that ever befel 
one in my sad condition. One day that Miss 
Twist had dined with us, she and my sister in the 
evening were playing and singing at the piano- 
forte. They both sung extremely well, only 
Miss Twist was so abominably affected, I coulcl 
not bear to look at her while she sung, but stood 
at a distance, generally listening to the words. 
Music I delighted in; especially 1 found since the 
first attack of my bumping — there were some 
tunes so exquisitely soothing and delightful, T 
could scarce bear them; and some of the words 
of the songs seemed to me to touch my complaint: 
Miss Twist, I perceived, had a particular knack 
in fixing upon such songs: at lasti there came one 
that completely opened my poor dull eyes; the 
two first verses were sufficient I had not made 
complete experiment of all: — ^but my eyes were 
opened, as i say: Thinks-I-to-mysdf^ * that's 
enough;' as I v/hispered to my sister to beg her to 
repeat it, I could not help marking every word, 
the second time, and accompanying them with 
my usual soliloquies, 



45 
r * When Delia on the plain appears.* 

Sung Miss Twist: — Thinks-I-to-myselftWheu Emi- 
ly Mandeville walks in the garden: 

* Awed by a thousand tender fears, 

* I would approach, but dare not move;* 

Thinks-I-to-myself, symfioms! — the exact case to 
la hair! never was any thing more plain! 

« Tell me my heart if this be love. 
I Yes, undoubtedly: Neither /gver nor pleurisy, nor 
iperipneumonyi nor phrenitis, nor a diseased liver, 
I but love! downright love. My eyes were open* 
i ed, I say. 

j As ill luck would have it, however. Miss Twist, 
I believe, thought her eyes were opened too She 
had no questions to ask her heart about love, for I 
believe she was perfectly incapable of thgit amia- 
ble passion, in any serious degree; nothing, I 
am confident, would ever have made her heart 
bump as mine did; but having been instructed and 
tutored at home, to lay siege to my expected Ba- 
rony that was coming from the North, and having 
fully learnt to believe from Father, Mother, Go- 
verness, Nurse, &c. &c. &c. that there was no- 
thing she could purchase with her riches half so 
valuable, as a coronet and supporters for her car- 
riage, having the Twist arms in the full middle of 
Jill, as an heiress, she was interested in all the 
love-symptoms that could, by any means, be dis- 
covered in the heir apparent of all these valua- 
bles, and therefore she thought it worth her while 
io make that malady her study, and as she could 
not fairly ask to feel my pulse, she could only 
judge at a distance as it were: so she had made 



46 

already almost as much of this one verse as I had; 
* When Delia on the plain appears,^ was to her,] 
when Miss Twist comes in her carriage;—* Jiived 
by a thousand tender fears, I would approach,*-^- 
she put, * He would approach;' that is, me, (me: 
myself, me,) the clod-pole, *he would approach,, 
but dare not move.' 

I don't wonder she was mistaken, for certainly 
ivras *■ awed,'' though not by * tender fear s:^ I was 
afraid of her olos^ies, and heap of vain accomplish- 
ments^ and though / certainly did not wish to ap- 
proach her, yet as I certainly did not approach 
her so much as she wished and expected, it was a 
fair conjecture to think I would but could not, and 
that I dared not moue, and so, take it all together, 
no wonder her pride and prepossessions plainly 
tola her, that this was love; love in me towards 
her own sweet person; she therefore made sure of 
her game: the song being asked for again, con- 
vinced her that it was by way of enabling her to 
discover the precious secret; so that she felt quite 
convinced of being her Ladyship already, and 
wondered what could make the old people in the 
!North live so long; my father and mother also, I 
apprehend, she wished somewhat older, though, 
perhaps, she would have allowed the latter a little 
respite as a Dowager. 

I thought, however, I had made two discoveries 
from this song: the third stanza pleased me as 
much as any; for, by applying it to Emily Mande- 
ville, 1 began to flatter myself I had discovered 
a reason for turning away, when her mother and 
I were talking so much about the ball at Nicoti- 
um Castle, and the accomplishments of Miss 
Twist. 



. 47 

f *If she some other youth commend.* 

ThinkS'Ito-mysdf, why not — * if he some other 
imaid commend?' * Though I was once his fondest 
friend;' — * Why not,' says 1, * her fondest friend?' 
* His instant enemy I prove,' — * Why not, says I, 
*her enemy,' and so on: — surely, Thinks-l-to» 
myself y — symptoms digdXni — mv heart bumped more 
than ever, but it was become quite a pleasant sen- 
isation; — I had quite given up all thoughts of ask- 
ing the apothecary about it; — I meant hencefor- 
ward to ask nobody about it, but Dr. Emily Man- 
deville. 

I had not time yet to think the least in the 
world about Miss Twist's disappointment; indeed 
I could not care a halfpenny about it; for Thinks- 
Ito-myselfy love wont kill her, and there's coro- 
nets enough to be had for money: who knows but 
she may buy an Earl or a Duke; but poor Emily 
Mandeville can't buy even a Baron; and thus I 
ran on whenever my thoughts took that turn; — 
however, I could not help now beginning to make 
comparisons between the heiress of Nicotiuni 
Castle, and the meek-eyed maiden of the Vicar- 
age. Tliinks-I-to-myself, what's all her Chemis- 
try and Geology, and French and Italian to the 
plain sense and rational understanding of Emily 
Mandeville? What are all the airs and graces, 
and conceit and affectation, of the haughty Miss 
Twist, to the artless simplicity and unassuming 
innocence of the Vicar's daughter? She may ride 
in her coach, and have necklaces and bracelets of 
the choicest jewellery, she may sing like a Cata- 
line, or dance like a Dogalani, but I want not to 
pass my life amidst diamonds and rubies; I want 
something better to associate with, than the pup- 
pets of an Opera House. 



48 

But there was one circumstance with regard tl 
the Twists that had a great tendency to set n\< 
against them;— they seemed to me to have n^j 
sense of religion; their pew at church was gener- 
ally empty, or if they chanced to come there, they 
were too late, or there was such a talking in theii! 
pew, or they seemed none of them to have any 
books, or they knew nothing of the sermon afteri; 
wards, or something or other happened to conJ 
vince me, that they had not any of them any pro- 
per sense of religion at all; — Church was a bor^ 
to Miss Twist: — Mr. Mandeville's sermons werl 
shocking long; — her papa always took a novel i^ 
his pocket, and Mrs. Twist wished she was close 
to the parson with a spur, to urge him on a little 
quicker: now I shall make no scruple to say, that 
I had ever a propensity to hold such sort of peo- 
ple in absolute contempt and abhorrence; my fa- 
ther and mother had each of them a just sense o^| 
religion: — they were christians, not in form only| 
but at heart; they never disputed about it, oj 
made a parade of it, but any thing that in thv 
least offended against the sacredness of placed 
person or thing, connected with religion, excitedl 
their displeasure; so that I was bred up from a 
child to entertain a reverence for whatever be- 
longed to it; and it is no wonder that this should 
have led me to look more narrowly into these 
matters, and make it no subordinate object of my 
studies: — I was fond of books always: — I had 
been admirably instructed: — Mrs. Fidget thought 
me a clod -pole because I could not talk in the 
way she did, and while she talked without think' 
ing, /thought ivithout talking: — I would not bej 
so uncivil to Mrs. Fidget, as to insist upon it with-] 



49 

out farther argument, that I had the advantage, 
but it appeared to me, I must confess, that I was 
n<^ clod-pole for what I did. I never shall re- 
gret the want of language that may have excited 
Mrs. Fidget's spleen: — want of thought would 
have given me more concern. But to return to 
ivhat I was discoursing upon. — 

Bred up as I had been, it may easily be sup- 
posed, Mr. Mandeville's house and manners, and 
way of going on, were more congenial to my feel- 
ings, than the empty glare and glitter of Nicoti- 
um Castle: at Mr. Mandeville's every thing was 
regular, comfortable, and consistent: one could 
have stepped at any time out of his house into the 
other world without confusion, but at Nicotium 
Castle, nothing was regular, nothing comfortablcj 
nothing natural, all artificial; and as for stepping 
out of that gaudy Castle into the other world, it 
was quite horrible and shocking to think of it. 
T^iivks-I-to-myself, (often,) What will the angels 
say to thee, Mr. Twist, when thou appearest at the 
gates of heaven! * Alas! Thinks-LtO'inysdfi sure- 
ly I know: — *Thou in thy life-time receivedst thy 
good things, likewise Lazarus evil things:' — I had 
not so little charity as to be ever able to proceed; 
for after all, the melancholy thing was, Mr. Twist 
knew nothing about the other world! he knew 
much more of the Sporting Calendar than of the 
Bible, He thought, probably, (if be ever thought 
at all upon the subject) that there was a regu- 
lar JMcotium Castle prepared for him among the 
many mansions we read of in the Book of God; 
and that if there were any thing that might not 
come to him in the way of inheritance, merit, or 
grace, money could purchase it. 

£ 



50 

I am afraid I have fallen deep into a digres- 
sion: — ^well then, gentle reader, if you don^t like 
this digression, burn all the rest of the book, but 
don't touch the digression itself: — give it nie back 
again; I value it:— I don't care v/hat you like or 
dislike; upon that particular topic, I will speak 
my mind: If 1 am to be a Clod pole, let me, for 
God's sake, be at least a, religious one. 

My Avorthy, good and kind mother, thought the i 
ball at Nicotium Castle was too pointed, not to] 
render it strictly incumbent on her to give a ball 
at Grumblethorpe Hall: at which, good soul, I 
make no manner of doubt, she looked forward, 
with feelings something like those of Mrs. Twist, 
(only not so vulgar,) to the pleasure of seeing 
Miss Twist and me dance together. She spoke 
of it to my father, and as he thought it quite right, 
to be sure it must be done directly: — for the only 
thing In which I think my poor mother might be 
vulgar and unfashionable, was, that of having a 
perfect deference to the opinion of my father — so 
much so, that! have often thought she really loved 
him: — but what made a great puzzle and combus- 
tion among us sometimes, was that my lather had 
just as great a deference for my mother, so that if, 
by any untoward accident, any project, business, 
or engagement hung upon a balance between 
them, it was almost impossible that it should ever 
get settled; each insisting so strenuously not to 
have it their own way, that I am confident, that 
had it been left to them to settle the planetary 
system, and the dispute had been about the right 
and left course of the orbits, that glorious lumina- 
ry, the sun, might have stood still for ever, with- 
out a single body to revolve around him. 



51 

Well, the ball was of course determined upoti, 
and the day fixed; and in two days after the de- 
termination, a pack of printed cards having been 
procured, numberless invitations were written, 
many of them by Clod-puie himself, but here a 

freat difficulty arose;— my sister wished all the 
[andevilles to be invited, and to have beds at the 
hall; my mother assured her they were not of the 
party at Nicotium Castle:— 'not,' says she, *that 
I think them unworthy of having been there, for, 
on the contrary, I think it would have been better 
had Mrs. Twist invited them, but only now, they 
will not expect to be invited; but I will see what 
your father says: I said nothing, and I thought 
nothingl for I was, as it were, flabbergasted; — 
what that means, I don't know, but having heard 
it used upon occasion by very elegant people, I 
adopt it, as it seems to me to mean something 
very applicable to my feelings. 

I shall cease to describe the humpings I had at 
my heart, because £ now understood them, and 
thought them quite natural. I confess, I felt 
anxious about my father's coming home, though 
neither my mother, nor my sister said a word 
about it: at last, however, he came; — he had been 
out a riding with Mr. and Miss Twist, of all the 
people in the world, so that augured rather unfa- 
vourably as to the issue of the business: — he was 
not long returned before he came into my mother's 
room: Thinks- I-to-myself, I wish I was dead and 
buried. I expected them to begin upon it immedi- 
ately; — but no such thing: — the deuce of a word 
was uttered either about the Twists or the Man- 
devilles, for a full quarter of an hour at least: — at 
last my sister began; — says she; * Papa, dont you 



52 

mean that the Mandevilles shall be invited to the 
Ball?' 

Just at this moment, the servant entered, and 
my father was called out of the room; 1 could 
have freely knocked the fellow on the head. 
ThinkS'I-to-myself, he did it on purpose; — how- 
ever, the business was not urgent, and my father 
came back again; says my sister, as before, * Papa, 
don't you mean to have the Mandevilles invited 
to the ball?' * Who are invited?' says my father. 

• Every body,' says my mother, * that was at Ni- 
cotium Castle;' — * the Mandevilles were there,' 
says my father hastily; — * no, not one of them,' 
says my mother; — * then,' says my father, * it's a 
d- — n'd shame! !' — My mother, and my sister, 
and myself, all slunk back; such an expression 
from such a mouth bespoke an earnestness we 
were unaccustomed to; says my father, ' Are you 
5ure they were none of tiiem there?' — 'Indeed,' 
says my mother, * they were none of them invited;' 

• then' says my father, * send to them directly, and 
tell 'em we have beds for them all, and tell 'em 
we'll send the carrirge for them, and tell 'em to 
bring my favourite young Tom, and tell 'em they 
had better come to dinner that they may be in 
time;' — so saying, he quitted the room and bang- 
ed the door after him, as much as to say, * I'm al- 
most in a passion;' — my mother said not a word, 
but went and got some paper; — says she, * don't 
«end a cardy its too formal; here, write what your 
father said,' holding out a sheet of paper; — my 
sister gladly took the pen, and scribbled away the 
full amount of my father's liberal invitation;-— 
I wished very much to be the messenger to carry 
the note to the Vicarage, but 1 coulu not muster 



53 

up quite courage enough to propose it; — so it was 
sent in a common way. 

My mother was particularly anxious not to be 
at any extraordinary expence about the ball, 
though my sister had heard a great deal about the 
splendour ol that at Nicotium Castle, and wished, 
of course, that ours should ue as grand; I am not 
sure but she had some bumpings at the.heart about 
it, she seemed so earnest; but my mother took 
pains to convince her, that extravagance was no 
jreal mark of gentility; that it was better to ap- 
Ipear to want some things that might have been 
procured, than to go much out of the way to pro- 
cure things that might reasonab'y be dispensed 
with; — says she, * my dear, the Twists sent for 
every thing from London; surely, it is better to 
have it supposed thatie^e need send for nothingP 

It may easily be imagined that till the day 
came, not much else was thought of; — it was 
amusement to my mother and sister, it had much 
in it to produce my bumpings at hearty and as for 
my father, he waited patiently for it, 1 believe, 
without giving himself a moment's concern about 
the business. Though I had not ventured to ask 
to carry the note to the Vicarage, I could not help 
going there soon after, over Tmst stile a.nd all: 
When I got there, I said, ' I hoped we should see 
tliem;' for they did not immediately answer the 
note, not knowing how to arrange about the din- 
ing and sleeping, &,c. Says I, ' i hope you will all 
come;' and, Thinks-I-to -myself, I hope my dear 
Emily will dance with me, but as for uttering it, I 
might as v/ell have been born dumb: It passed in 
my mind freely enough, to and fro, upwards and 
downwards, but- out of my mind, not a hair's 



54 

breadth; I looked and sighed, and like Alexander 
the great, * sij^hed and looked again.' ' Pray,' 
says Emily, * Do the Twists dine and sleep there?' 
says I, * O no: God forbid!^ — I was afraid I had 
spoken too hastily, but I took particular notice 
that she looked uncommonly happy: I took my 
leave soon after, and returned home. 

At length the day of days came. The (Jarpet 
was taken up in the drawing-room, and the floor 
all chalked in fine coloured figures and compart- 
ments. All the Mandeuilles came to dinner, but 
it was rather bustle and confusion, for the dining- 
room was to be the supper-room: and so, soon 
wanted; — however, I was much pleased with some 
conversation that took place between my father 
and Mr. Mandeville after dinner. 

* I wish, Mr. Mandeville,' says my father, * every 
body would bring up their family as you bring up 
yours' 

*I don't know. Sir,' says Mr. Mandeville,*! 
bring them up to learn all that I think really ne- 
cessary, and all that is in my power to teach, 
them.' 

* That's just what I like,* says my father; ' Why 
should our children be made so much wiser than 
ourselves? Why should it be thought necessary 
that because there happens now to be a profusion 
of teachers in all branches of knowledge, every 
thing that is to be taught, must be learnt? Why 
am I to be bound to give guinea after guinea to 
have my daughter taught every thing that other 
people choose to learn, and merely on that account, 
without the least regard to her natural genius, 
taste or capacity: and when I am perfectly assur- 
ed that more than half of what she so learns, can 



5d 



be of no benefit to her husband, or her children, 
or her children's children, and can onlj be ac- 
quired by a profligate waste and expense of that 
time, which not only might be bestowed on studies 
of real importance, but on such as must tend to 
the use, and b'^nefit, and delight of all connected 
with her? There's our neighbour Miss Twist, to be 
sure she knows, in some way or other, abundance 
of things: — she is, what the world calls, highly ac- 
complished; nor am I disposed to blame her pa^ 
rents for any care or cost they have bestowed on 
her; but the eifect of it is, in many cases, absurd 
and preposterous: — if it tends to set off* the daugh- 
ter, it tends as much to degrade the parents; for 
it is self-evident, that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Twist 
have sufficient knowledge of half the things their 
daughter hath been taught, to be able to judge of 
her proi^ress and acquirements, — it is fifty to one 
but that in merely talking of them, they continu- 
ally expose themselves, by their ignorance and 
blunders, and what is worse than all, their daugh' 
ter must know that they do so, if she knows any 
thing as she should do: — now your daughters, Mr. 
Mandeville, learn of you and Mrs. Mandeville, 
nothing but what is, and ever will be, esaential, use' 
fid, proper, and becoming; — and learning it of 
you, and you only, they never can come to look 
down upon you; tliey must look up to you- as 
children should do, with respect and reverence 
and esteem, and the utmost of their aspiring must 
be, to be as wise and as good as yourselves. Be- 
sides, Mr. Mandeville, as to the great and only 
knowledge, that is of real importance to us all, 
you must know better than me, that it is almost 
the only kind of learning they never take muck 



56 , 

pains to acquire: — 1 don't suppose any of your 
learned profession were ever called upon by fa- 
ther, mother, or guardian, to teach their son, or 
daughter, or wdrd, Divinity^ — that is, I mean 
Christianity; and yet a few guineas so bestowed, 
might perhaps, go as far to help their appearance 
in the other world, as many guineas, in this, aye, 
and benefit some fellow-creature, possibly, of 
piore worth, than fifty fiddlers or dancing-mas- 
ters. 

* I wish, Mr. Mandeville, you could get the 
Twists to attend church a little oftener: — I hate to 
see their pew empty almost every Sabbath day; 
it is quite a pity: — Twist is a good natured rattle, 
and as for Mrs. Twist, I am confident that if any 
body could ever once convince her, that there 
were one or two accomplishments wanting to set 
her daughter off to advantage, (for that is the great 
object of all mothers now-a-days,) in another 
world besides this, which I fear has never once 
entered Mrs. Twist^s head, I am persuaded, I 
say, that she would not neglect to inquire after 
som^ teacher or other, who might render her not 
deficient, in the courts above.' 

Mr. Mandeville was preparing to reply, when a 
solemn message was brought from the upper 
house, which was privately delivered to my fa- 
ther: Thinks-I-to-myself, a motion to adjourn,— 
and so it turned^ut,- — for the Speaker immediate- 
ly quitted the chair, and after asking Mr. Mande- 
ville if he would drink any more wine, he public- 
ly announced the summons he had had to the 
drawing-room, and we prepared to follow him. 

When we went up stairs, the room was almost 
full. My father, of course, went boldly into the 



^7 

middle of them all: — Mr. Mandeville and myself 
remained near the door. I cast my eyes round 
and round, and round again, before I could fairly 
discern what 1 most wished to see; — at length, I 
espied on one side of the room, behind a number 
that were standing up, Mrs. and the three Miss 
Mandevilles sitting close together, like a hen and 
so many chickens; I felt an irresistible desire to 
go to them, but though there was a near way of 
doing it, I found, upon attempting it, I could not 
stir: — I felt just as if my right leg wanted to go, 
but my left leg pulled it back. — Thinks- I-to ■my- 
self, * I would approach, but dare not move;' — • 
* Tell me my heart,' &c. At length, a fresh party 
arrived, and we were fairly pushed further into 
the room: — I then did sedulously endeavour to 
keep in that direction, and as Mr. Mandeville 
seemed to have no other object, as well as myself, 
we gradually got nearer and nearer, though con- 
tinually interrupted, of course, by the greetings 
and salutes of divers persons and parties whom 
we passed. Nothing ran in my head but the be- 
ing in time to ask Emily to dance with me the 
two first dances, but as for hastening to her for 
this purpose, it was quite out of the question; 
my left leg still kept pulling me back, as I 
thought. 

Some preparations now began to be made for be- 
ginning the ball, and I felt quite sure that I should 
be too late vo accomplish my end, when, as good 
luck would have it, Mr. Mandeville made a bold 
push to get at them, and 1 followed close in the 
rear:— the point now seemed to me to be accom- 
plished:— I had got close to Emily, and was just 
in the act of stooping to ask her to be my partner. 



58 

{For human thread papers, you know, are generally 
pretty tall) when I received such a horrible pinch 
just on the tender part above the elbow of my 
right arm, that I had liked to have screamed 
aloud: Tliinks-I-to-myself, spring-guns and steel- 
ti-aps, as sure as I am born! ! — It was my father, in 
fact, who, leaning over two benches, said in great 
haste, * Bob, come here, I have engaged you to 
Miss Twist:' — being too confused to think or say 
any thing to myself, as customary, I mechanically 
answered, * I'll come directly. Sir;' possibly with 
an appearance of joy rather than sorrow, for these 
contradictions were among the symptoms of my 
complaint. I was just going to say to Emily, 
* pray dance with me the two next dances,' but 
alas! at that instant, a tall dashing young man 
came up to her, and asked her to dance, and she 
assented^ as I fancied, with peculiar satisfaction* ^ 
I now had to find my father and Miss Twist, 
which I was not long in doing; — the music ha^ 
begun to play, and all was in a complete bustle. 
I found Miss Twist standing before Mrs. Twist, 
who seemed to be looping up her gown, and mak- 
ing other preparations for dancing: I went to her, 
putting on my gloves, * Miss Twist,' says I, • I be- 
lieve 1 am to have the honour of dancing with 
you:' — she bobbed something at me, which I sup- 
pose she called a courtesy, and was soon ready to 
be led into the ranks; — but here fresh difficulties 
again ensued: — my mother had carefully invited 
all that she had met at Nicotium Castle, but being 
much better known in the neighbourhood, and 
willing that none should be excluded, her in- 
vitations had extended upwards and downwards 
to many more:— at the lower extremity, besides 



59 

the Mandevilles, there was another Clergyman's 
family, three young ladies who lived with an old 
aunt, just by, that never went out, and poor Miss 
Creepmouse, who also seldom got such a holiday: 
-—there were some young men whose parents were 
worthy, but not over genteel, and a few officers 
from the barracks, particularly and respectably 
, recommended to their notice. (Mrs. Twist had in- 
vited them all indiscriminately:) at the upper ex- 
tremity, there were the additions of Lord and 
Lady Charievilie, the two Miss Charlevilles, a 
niece of Lord Charleville's and his eldest son, a 
Lieutenant in the Guards; there were Sir Henry 
and Lady Lydiard, their three daughters, and two 
sons; — there were, besides, a Mr. Wentworth and 
Lady Maria Wentworth, the sister of a Scotch 
marquis, and their daughter. Miss Wentworth. 
Lord Charievilie had thought it proper to engage 
my sister, and led her to the top of the room. 

Poor Miss Twist having began her own ball, 
very much wished, I believe, to begin ours too: — 
she sidled up close to my sister, and seemed 
evidently to wish to stand at least next to her: — 
the order of precedency, I believe, had never yet 
been duly studied at Nicotium Castle: — I began 
to be frightened, because at one time the Miss 
Charlevilles, who were not what I call high bred, 
but thorough bred, seemed disposed to overlook 
her attempt to get above them, and to give way 
to her, which would have made her so conspicu- 
ously wrong, that I should have been quite dis- 
tressed; my sister managed to prevent it by gen- 
tly retaining the Miss Charlevilles next to her, and 
we were obliged to cast down two couple; — that 
brought us to the Miss Lydiards; — they were by 



60 

no means so well inclined to part wi{h their 
places;^ — they well knew that they must come 
next to the Honourables: — as they hung together, 
we were here obliged to cast down three couple 
more; — and then come another hitch, for there 
stood Miss Wentworth, but the youngest Mis 
Lydiard grasped so fast hold of her hand, just at> 
the moment Miss 1 wist made her last effort to 
insert herself among the grandees, that we were 
compelled to cast off one more couple, and did 
not therefore fairly get a place till we were the 
eighth couple from the top. 

As I had nothing to do but to keep pace witK 
her on the gentleman's side of the party, I at 
length got my proper station opposite to her:— • 
ThinkS'I-to-myself, Mortified! — as it manifestly 
proceeded from ignorance, I felt sorry for her, 
though it was well for her to gain such experience 
any how; Mrs. Twist, feeling, if possible, more 
for her than she felt for herself, came up to her, 
and I overheard her whisper, — * they are the 
Honourable Miss Charlevilles, and Sir Henry's 
daughters, you know,' and so on, — which, I ap- 
prehend, gave her some comfort and consolation: 
now much I cannot pretend to say. 

The ball had now actually began. I ventured 
to cast my eyes frequently down towards where 
the Miss Mandevilles stood, and every time it 
struck me, that Emily seemed particularly happy 
with her partner; — how much I wished her to be 
walking in the garden at the Vicarage! — Thinks* 
LtomyseLf, I'll never go there again: — as we drew 
near to the top, it struck me that whenever we set 
off, we should make a rattling like that of a team 
of horses with their loose harness returning from 



61 

plough; for Miss Twist had on her neck such a 
profusion of pendant ornaments, that it looked as 
if in dressing she had taken no other care but to 
avoid leaving one trinket behind; she had on first, 
an exceeding handsome pearl necklace; then, sus- 
pended to one gold chain, a locket, richly set in 
diamonds, in which appeared to be twisted and 
entwined, the respective ringlets of her honoured 
parents; then, suspended to another gold chain, 
an agate essence bottle set in gold, filled with otto 
of roses; and besides that, though she was about 
as nearsighted as a lynx, suspended on a third 
gold chain, an eye-glass, surrounded with large 
pearls; — how all these things were to be safely 
conveyed to the end of thirty or forty couple, ap- 
peared to me to be a mystery, and as it happened, I 
was right, for we had scarcely got down three cou- 
ple, before the gold -mounted essence bottle fell 
foul of the pearl eye glass, and broke it all to pieces; 
the glass itself was of course no loss, and as it 
drew the attention of all the company to the splen- 
dour of the setting it had a most desirable effect. 
Thinks-I-to-myselfy that will be mended before the 
next ball, and, perhaps, the essence bottle will be 
left to dangle just as near as ever. 

As soon as this little interruption was settled, 
which brought up Mrs. Twist, and seemed to in- 
terest her exceedingly, we went on, turning and 
twisting, generally so separated from each other, 
that I had little occasion to talk to her, (and I 
was heartily glad of it:) — when we got to Miss 
Mandeville and her dashing partner, I had to set 
corners with her, and turn her: I had determin- 
ed to give her a little gentle rebuke for her indif- 
ference, but when I touched her hand, my tongue 



62 \ 

cleaved to the roof of my mouth, and I could not 
utter a word:— I had the resolution, however, to 
swing her off* with a remarkable air of unconcern, 
and 1 flattered myself that she seemed hurt; 
Thinks-I-to-myself^ — affronted! When we had 
really got to the bottom. Miss Twist fanned her- 
self, and breathed hard: I said, * it is very hot, 
but it was a pretty dance:' — * too crowded;' — and 
a number of other common-place ball remarks, 
which did very well, and were quite enough, I^ 
have a notion, to satisfy that I was in love with - 
her: we danced down the second dance together, 
and then she bobbed a courtesy, and I bobbed a 
bow, like mother Hubbard and her dog, and it was 
all very well settled. 

As £ went up to my sister directly afterwards, 
I was amused with the different manner in which 
I found all the party came to ask her the same 
question: of course, as in all other balls, there was 
a certain sprinkling of fine ladies, and quizzy 
gentlemen, as well as of quizzy ladies and fine 
gentlemen: so that the several partnerships were, 
as it might be, ill or well -arranged: those that 
happened to be well mated, and to have found 
partners to their satisfaction, came slowly up to 
my sister, and rather plaintively, and timidly a.d' 
dressed her, *Do we change partners. Miss Der- 
mont?' — but those who were ill-matched, and 
wanted to shake off" a quizzy partner, came bold- 
ly up, * We change partners, don't we, Miss Der- 
mont?' — I made many observations of this nature, 
though nobody guessed what I was about; — I saw 
abundance of untoward circumstances, though 
well disguised, that convinced me, it might be 
very neighbourly, but was in reality the crudest 
thing in the world, to make such a party. 



63 

During the two first dances, I was sorry to see 
poor Mrs. Fidget, who had two daughters in the 
room, quite unable to get a partner for either: 
thej were, in truth, very crcfss looking girls, and 
by no means popular in the neighbourhood: she 
came repeatedly behind me, during the dance, 
with Miss Matilda hanging upon her arm, com- 
plimented me about my dancing, and my good 
looks: as I never had any malice in my disposi- 
tion, I really should have been glad to have asked 
her daughter to dance, but while I had resolved 
in my own mind to die rather than ask Emily 
! Mandeville, yet I could not help wishing to keep 
I myself disengaged, for fear I should die if 1 by any 
means put it out of rhy power to dance with her. 

All the Mandevilles were so pretty that they 
never wanted partners; beauty brings down pride 
as well as money, or any thing; — had there been 
fifty lords in the room, I'll be bound Emily Man- 
deville might have danced with them all: — I stu- 
diously avoided taking any notice of her, (though 
it occasioned horrible bumpings,) and for the two 
second dances I engaged myself (by my mother's 
desire) to Miss Charleville. 

I was surprised to see with how much greater 
case and civility she conducted herself down the 
dance than had been the case with Miss Twist: 
and having no dangling ornaments at all, we got 
safely and without interruption to the bottom: — 
Thinks- 1 -to -mil self, either Emily Mandeville, or 
Miss Charleville — and 1 gave myself great credit 
I for having the resolution to compare any body with 
the former. 

It would be absurd to go more than necessary 
into the detail of the ball, but before it was over, 
ene or two things occurred which I cai;inot leave 



64 

tinnoticed; when Miss Twist had regularly sur- 
mounted all the seven couple that originally stood 
above her, and seen them safely removed to the 
bottom of the set, and had herself fairly attained 
the summit, so that according to the etiquette of 
things it was her turn to call the two next dan- 
ces — lo! and behold, she had no partner. I had 
been wandering about the room, watching Emily 
and her partner^ and had not attempted to engage 
myself, when my mother came up to me, and « 
desired that I ;vould by all means, if not engaged, 
go and ask Miss Twist: at the moment, I am con- 
fident, she had no thoughts of any thing but that 
of showing a civility to her company; had any 
other been in that situation, she would have done 
the same, but now the business was out:— I had 
occasion to know afterwards, that divers shrewd 
persons among the kindest of her neighbours, had 
noticed the dose siege she seemed to be laying to 
the Twist domains: Mr. Robert Dermont, it 
seems, had danced twice with Miss Twist, but 
not once with either of the Miss Fidgets; twice 
with Miss Twist, but not once with any of the 
four Miss Gogmagogs; they might have ad- 
ded, twice with Miss Twist, and not once 
with either of the three Miss Mandevilles; 
but had I danced but once with any of the 
latter, a different sort of wonderment would 
no doubt have been excited, and perhaps still 
more degrading insinuations thrown out; as it was, 
my mother's artful designs upon JSTicotium Cas- 
tle were judged to be as evident and as capable of 
demonstration, as if the settlements had been 
signed and sealed; all this I found out afterwards: 
what added considerably to these foul appearan- 
ces was, that, as ill luck would have it, the tw# 



65 

ijdances called by Miss Twist were the two last 
before supper, so that I was doomed to have the 
additional /e/ici^y of handing her to the supper- 
room, and sitting next to her at thdit awful solem- 
nity;— when every thing that is done, said, or 
seen, is sure to be taken strict account of, and 
made the subject of conversation for the next half 
year. 

I When supper was over, we returned to the ball- 
room, where we continued dancing "till Phebus 
i'gan to rise:" — I still sedulously avoided all the 
JMandevilles:' — I felt sure that Emily would 
dream of nothing but her smart partners, and that 
she did not deserve another bump of my poor 
I heart: — before it was all finished, however, she 
{appeared to be indisposed, and therefore quite re- 
tired from the set; — I had many doubts and mis- 
givings whether I should condescend to go and ask 
her how she did; ThinkS'Lto-myself, she has been 
smitten at first sight by some of her dashing part- 
ners, and why should not I leave her to suffer? 

While I was thinking all this, Mr. Mande- 
ville came and shook me hastily by the hand 
* Good night' says he, • Emily is not very well, and 
lady Charleville has been so obliging as to insist 
upon her carriage taking us home:' — Had I been 
shot through the heart I could not have felt more! 
the Ball was nearly over, and all my h^-ppiness 
had been frustrated: I went with him to the party, 
where I found them all cloaking up, being in haste 
not to keep Lady Charlevilles carriage waiting. 

I offered Emily my arm, which she accepted. 
*I am sorry,' says I, you are not well; I was in 
hopes it had been particularly pleasant to you, you 
kad such a heap of smart partners.' * They were 

F 2 



66 

all strangers to me' she said, in some haste: * why 
you did not like them the worse for that, surely!' 
said I; — * indeed,* says she, • I should have liked 
old friends and acquaintances better, and you 
donH know me, if you think otherwise:^ she had no 
sooner said it, than I fell into one of the most 
dreadful fits of bumping I ever felt: I had only 
time to press her hand, and help her into the car- 
riage, and when I returned into the ball-room, 
every thing looked stranger than I can describe; 
I felt that all I cared for, w^as on the way to the 
Vicarage, and that I had fairly been making a fool 
of myself during the whole evening: to mend 
matters, Mrs. Twist came up to me, and asked 
me how the Mandevilles were to get home, plainly 
insinuating that they had no can iage, but never 
offering her own: * M^'am,' says I, * my father's 
carriage brought them here, and would have con- 
veyed them home, had not the Lord and Lady 
Charleville been so good as to insist upon their 
taking their coach;' then Mrs. Twist, for the first 
time, began to say, they should have been wel- 
come to hers; but I knew better. 

The Ball at length ended; every body went 
home to bed, and to sleep, except probably myself, 
who had the heart-bumping all night, besides pul- 
ses in my ears, and a hundred other love-sick af- 
fections. 

It was some time afterwards that it came into 
my head to take some account of this Ball, which 
my good father and mother had given solely with 
the view of contributing what they thought incum- 
bent on them to the amusement and happiness of 
their neighbours, but which in fact, or at least, ia 
all probability, turned out quite otherwise} iu the 



67 

first place, by endeavouring to extend their invi- 
tations as far as they could, for the sake of pleas- 
ing as many as possible, they invited some to 
whom they were scarcely known; this, of course, 
affronted many who were entirely strangers, but 
who conceived that they might as well have been 
asked as the others: by endeavouring to mortify 
no persons who had any pretensions to be invited, 
though not in a rank of life to associate generally 
with the neighbourhood, they let loose upon th^m 
abundance of persons, still lower, who judged 
themselves to be not only equal but superior to 
those who were invited. 

I cannot describe to you how low we might 
have gone had we endeavoured to satisfy all these 
prejudices and pretensions; I am confident that 
in the course of things, the blacksmith's wife 
would have felt insulted to have been left out. 
Then as to the real pleasure and happiness af- 
forded to those who came — above half undoubted- 
ly went away dissaiisAed; some envying all 
things that they could not command at home; 
some attributing all that they saw to the mere love 
of show and parade; — there were some sor^y their 
daughters had not found partners for every dance; 
some sorry they had been introduced to such low 
partners, quite beneath them:— while, probably^ 
those very partners thought they had condescended 
greatly to dance with them at all; Mrs. Twist was 
evidently jealous of my mother's being able to get 
certain grand and titled visitors that were not to 
be seen at Nicotium Castle, while those titled 
visitors had a hard matter to assume even their 
proper places, without offence; some thought 
themselves neglected i some caught cold» some 



68 

set too low at the supper table, some could have 
sung after supper if they had been asked, some 
were affronted because they were asked; in short, 
take it altogether, though nobody would have been 
absent, none were entirely Ratisfied with being 
present, and my poor father and mother were an- 
swerable for every thing. ThinkS'I-to-myselft 
---mighty sociable! delightful neighbourhood! 
p,miable people! 

The next morning when I was in my mother's 
dressing room with my father and herself, my 
father said, * Have you sent to inquire after Miss 
Mandeville?' — Says-I-to-myselfi * Fll go/ — so I 
turned round abruptly to my mother, and as much 
as could be, thought J was going to offer to go, 
but a sudden overwhelming confusion came across 
me, and the words that really came out of my 
mouth were, * Shall I go and send Thomas?' Not 
one of the three last words having been in my 
mind before; I had merely intended to intimate 
that I would go and inquire after her myself: — 
ThinkS'I'tO'7hyself, such blunders as these canH 
be love; — this must be peripneumony, or phreni- 
tisy and I had better take some more physick 
for it. ' 

Thoinas was sent, and Thomas returned:— 
many thanks^Miss Mandeville was something 
better; — something better, Thinks-I-to-myself, 
—Why cannot 1 go and nurse her, and sit up 
with her night and day! My father proposed a 
ride, and when we had mounted our horses, he 
further proposed riding directly to Nicotium Cas- 
tle, to know how they were after their fatigue; — I 
made no objection; as we rode through the woods 
in our approach to the castle, my father threw out 



69 

^ thousand hints that I very well understood, but 
beyond mere hints he did not venture to advance: 
* It is the beauty of our constitution,' says he, 
hBob, that though there may be said to he in it, a 
distinct aristocracy and democracy, yet means are 
provided for the continual union and junction of 
these two branches: they are distinct in them- 
selves, but yet, bv a thousand circumstances, they 
get mingled diwS^ hknded together, to the evident 
i advantage of both; as a commercial countr)', every 
t branch of trade is so favoured, that the lowest 
I person among us may by industry become as rich 
i as the highest, and by' so doing, can raise his 
family to such a pitch of splendour and elegance, 
that they gradually and naturally slide into the 
stream of nobilty; while the nobility, who have no 
such rapid means of repairing the wear and tear 
of their estates, and who are never excused from 
keeping up a certain degree of estate and parade, 
are willing enough to assist in the elevation of 
their rich inferiors; and thus, as I said before, 
provisions seems to be made, by the very circum- 
stances of our excellent constitution, for the oc- 
casional melioration of both branches, and the 
Junction of the two extremes.' 

After this curious diatribe on our admirable 
constitution, we rode for some time without ex- 
changing a word; — 1 know what my father meant; 
ThinkS'I-to-myselfy * War begets poverty; poverty 
peace: peace makes riches flow, fate ne'er does 
cease; war begets poverty, poverty peace:' — to- 
bacco is a bewitching drug; the trade in tobacco 
therefore brings great riches; riches naturally lead 
to great pretensions; therefore a tobacconist's 
^rand-daughter is fit for a Peeress, — or, a Peer 



70 

Biay be poor; poverty may disable him from sup- 
porting his proper state and splendour;^~without 
state and splendour, he is no better than a tobac 
conist;— let the poor Peer then but marry the; 
proud tobacconist, and all is properly settled.' 
'War begets poverty, poverty peace.' 

As we approached the Castle, many remarks 
were made on the beauty of the situation, &c. &c. 
and some projects hinted as to the improvements 
that might be made^ if both estates were ever to 
come by amy accident into the hands of owe and the 
same individual' 

When we were shown up into the drawing- 
room, we found that none of the ball party had 
yet made their appearance: — there was nobody 
to receive us but Miss Watson, the Governess; — 
she was a very sensible worthy woman, the daugh- 
ter of a deceased Clergyman; we sat with her 
some time, before Mrs. and Miss Twist came to 
us; upon their entrance. Miss Watson arose, and 
Mrs. Twist took her chair. Miss Twist at the 
same time seating herself without farther cere- 
mony: my fatlier got up to set another chair for 
Miss Watson, but Mrs. Twist very considerately 
interfered, and by a certain look, and motion with 
her head, directed the poor humble Governess to 
retire. 

We did not stay long, as they had their break* 
fast to take; Mrs. Twist said she meant to drive 
to the Hall to inquire after my mother, which we 
did not prevent; but after having received a thou- 
sand compliments about the extreme delight they 
had received at the ball, both from mother and 
daughter, took our leave As we rode away from 
the Castle, my father said all of a sudden: 'Poor 



n 

Miss Watson!' mnlcs-Ito-myself, * Why poor 
Miss Watson?' we rode on: not a word till we 2;ot 
near a quarter of a mile further: when my father 
could contain no longer, — * Did you see, Bob»' 
says he, * how Mrs. Twist sent Miss Watson out 
of the room? — Surely it is wrong to degrade a 
Governess in that manner in the eyes of her pu- 
pil! the tutor of any young man of fortune or 
jamily may become Archbishop of Canterbury, 
and, why are the teachers of the other sex to be 
kept down below par, as they generally are? 
What can be meant by it? Is not the mere having 
a Governess for their daughters, a tacit con- 
fession, that the mothers themselves are not able 
to teach them; and if so, is it not an even chance 
at least, that the governess is far the most wise 
and deserving of the party? as for the want of 
time, which is the excuse too generally made, 
time itself was intended only for such ends, and 
therefore so far from this being a fair excuse, it 
is the very excuse a mother ought not dare to 
make. 

'But,' continues he, *if hirelings of that de- 
scription must be employed, it should at least not 
be forgotten, what sort of hirelings they are; they 
are in fact, hired Mothers; — Mothers' substitutes, 
deputies, representatives, and I fear too often bet- 
ter mothers than the principals: I don't like such 
an appendage to a family in general, for where 
they are bad, they are the very worst of evils; but 
if we must have them, let us do them every justice 
they may deserve. Such are the changes and 
chances and revolutions of life, that it is often 
probable that a governess may become dependant 
on a person naturally and originally far below her 
in the order of society, not to mention again the 



n 

probability of far greater mental and intellectual 
endowments; how grating must it be to such a 
person to be not only treated as a dependent by 
such mothers, but as inferior to them! — I confess, 
1 wish the worthy among these substitutes had but 
their fair chance of becoming Archbishops, and 
then they might have their revenge.* 

My poor father, when any thing touched his 
feelings, spoke out freely; — he forgot all his for4 
mer hints and inuendoes upon such occasions; Bi 
saw plainly that in his heart he could not beai 
the TwistSi in regard to some traits in their cha 



racter. 






When we got home, we found that many per 
sons had been there to inquire after my mother; 
— every one, without exception, telling her it was 
the pleasantest evening they ever spent. 

I am now coming to a remarkable period in my 
life, though I shall skip over most of the par- 
ticulars. My father had long thought of sending 
me to a Scotch University: he much approved of 
Edinburgh particularly, and he thought, as I was 
one day or other to be a Scotch Peer, it might be 
conducive to my interests to send me thither; of 
course, this greatly interrupted all the proceed- 
ings at Nicotium Castle and the Vicarage, and a 
long suspense ensued both of my hatred and my 
love. 

The day being fixed. I took leave of several of 
my neighbours, as I thought it become me, the 
Vicarage being the first and the last place I went 
to for this purpose; for indeed I could not help 1 
twice taking leave of that amiable and worthy j 
family, and 1 saw so much reason to be satisfied, 
that my approaching absence was really a matter 



- rs 

of regret to them all, that I can scarcely say, when 
1 quitted them, whether my heart was most heavy 
or most light; itseem.ed weighed down with grief 
because I was going from them, yet elevated to a 
pitch of extreme joy by the manner in which my 
departure seemed to be felt. Thinks- I-to-myself, 
as I quitted the door for the last time, — 

** The benediction of these cov'ring- heav*ns. 
Fall on their heads like dew, for they are worthy 
To in -lay Heaven with stars.'* 

Every thing having been duly prepared for my 
journey, the day at last came for my leaving 
Grumblethorpe for a longer period than had ever 
been the case before. My mother and my sister 
M^ere very much depressed upon the occasion, 
though they did all they could to conceal it, and 
as every thing that they felt my father felt also, it 
was a dismal morning altogether. There was 
much real and genuine grief, indeed, felt by us 
all, so that there was no room for the affectation 
of it. 

At Stamford I was to be joined by'my old tutor, 
who had been absent from Grumblethorpe for 
above a year and a half: he was to accompany me 
into Scotland: a trusty servant attended upon me, 
who was to wait upon us both during our sojourn- 
ment at Edinburgh: — I need not describe the last 
parting: those who have any feeling will know the 
precise circumstances of it; those who have none 
would not believe me if I described it ever so faith- 
fully. The carriage at last drove from the gate, 
and I bestowed a secret valediction and blessing, 
as I passed, on every tree, and every path, and 
every gate and paling; the sheep, and the geese, 
and the turkeys; and, for the moment, could fairly 

G 



74 

have envied them all fheir dull privilege of stay- 
ing where they were. 

I need not carry the reader along with me from 
stage to stage, during my long journey; suffice it 
to say, that at Stamford I met my worthy tutor, 
Mr Hargrave, and whom* it was a great satisfac- 
tion to me to join; he proposed goifig westward 
into Scotland, and taking the lakes in our way, 
whi h would also give me an opportunity of seer 
ing Glasgow, and other parts of Scotland, with 
ease, before I took up my abode at Edinburgh^ 
from Stamford, therefore, we proceeded through 
Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire, entering York- 
shire at Sheffield: Mr. Hatgrave was extremely 
careful to carry me to all the manufactories that 
we passed upon our road, and I confess I was 
highly amused; he took care that I should not ob- 
serve these things in a careless cursory manner? 
he explained to me, before I saw any of them, the 
immense advantages to be gained by the division 
of labour, which made me take the greater inter- 
est in examining the gradual progress of the seve- 
ral productions of art which came in Qur way, 
from the first rude material to the utmost state of 
perfection in which it was sent out of the hands 
of the manufacturer; he made me acqjainted with 
the natural properties and qualities of the rude 
materials themselves, whether mineral or vegeta- 
ble; he made me notice what manufactures were en^ 
tirely dependent on the products of our own coun- 
try, and what required the further aid and assist- 
ance of foreign and imported commodities; by 
these means, I insensibly gained a knowledge of 
more than can easily be supposed, by any person 
^vho has not had the advantage of such a compan- 



75 

ion in their travels: 1 became interested, before I 
was aware of the ends he had in view, in tbe study 
i)f Mineralogy, Cheirdstry, Botany? m things re- 
lating to the Trade, Manufactures, Siud Commerce 
of the state; nav, of the whole world, 

Mr. Hargrave had a happy talent of placing 
every object that drew my attention, in various 
and distinct points of view, so that I might learn 
from it all that could possiblj be said upon the 
subject. The China at Derby, and the cutlery 
goods at Sheffield, led him equally to expatiate 
upon all the several branches of knowledge I have 
enumerated; he would not only explain what dif- 
ferent species of earths had been used in the se- 
veral manufactures of China ware, but he would 
give ine a general idea of the classification of 
minerals; — show me what rank the earths held 
among them, how many different sorts had been 
discovered: — what were their distinct natural 
properties: — what the general effects of their mix- 
ture and combination: he would not only make 
me observe how they coloured the pieces, but he 
would explain how those colours were prepared; — 
what were derived from the mineral, and what 
from the vegetable kingdom; — what were prepar- 
ed at home, what foreign materials entered into 
their composition. 

Not content with this, he would often give me 
the exact natural history of distinct materials; 
explain to me from what countries they came, 
how they were procured, what connections we 
had with those countries, how the trade between 
us was conducted and carried on; — he would 
sometimes enter into the particulars of the geo- 
graphical and political circumstances of thos^ 



re 

countries;— how situated;— under what climate:— 
bow governed;— and from hence perhaps take oc- 
casion to converse upon the different forms of go- 
vernments that were known to subsist; — he would 
tell me, what other manufactures of the same 
kind existed in other parts, foreign and domestic; 
— the comparative estimation in which they were 
severally held; — which were still in repute; — 
which had fallen into decay; — he would remark 
upon the prices of labour, as regulated by the 
price of provisions, scarcity or abundance of hands; 
—-capital necessary for carrying on such works; 
— wholesomeness or unwholesomeness of different 
manufactures; — nature of the complaints produced 
by them: — in short, it was perfectly incredible to 
what an extent he would carry his observations in 
order constantly to keep my mind awake to that 
marvellous concatenation of circumstances by 
which all the seven! branches of knowledge might 
be said to bear upon one point; a Derby tea-cup 
was at any time sufficient to lead us far into Mi- 
neralogy, Botany, Chemistry, JS*atural History, His- 
tory, Trade^ Commi'rce, Economics, Politics, Geor 
graphy, JYavigation, and 1 know not what besides; 
and though this may appear to some rather a de- 
sultory mode of instruction, I am confident it had 
the effect of more thoroughly expandinjij my mind, 
and enabling it to comprehend at one view, a 
multiplicity of objects, not confusedly, but by a 
regular concatenation of particulars, and general 
association of ideas. 

From Sheffield, we proceeded by Barnesley, 
Wakefield. Leeds, Ripon into Westmoreland. 
In most of these towns, the clothing business ex- 
cited our attention, and engaged us in very dif- 



77 

ferent studies from those sugji^estecl to ns by the 
China and Hardware manufactories, but still with 
equal advantag;e: all nature, animate and inani- 
mate, seemed to be brought before me: — I could 
not put my foot to the ground any longer with 
the indifference I used to do: —every clod of 
earth, and every weed I trod upon, appeared to 
have some history belonging to it; it seemed 
scarcely credible that I could heretofore have 
passed so carelessly over objects so replete with 
woiider, so curious, so useful, and of such infinite 
and inexhaustible varieties. 

From Ripon, we visited Studley, Hackfall, and 
Fountain's Abbey. These were objects of a to- 
tally different nature, and yet Mr. Hargrave 
found means to expatiate upon them as largely as 
he had treated of the m an u factories. From our 
visit to Fountain's abbey, I imbibed a taste for the 
study of Antiquities; — he made me acquainted 
with the differeni styles of Architecture that had 
severally prevailed in various parts of the world; 
— described to me particularly, the different pro- 
perties and supposed beauties of the Gothic, and 
gave me a circumstantial account of its history: 
he entered deeply also into the particulars of the 
Monastic institutions to which we owe so many 
of our finest ruins, and from thence would take 
occasion to compare the manners of former times 
with our own, observing as he went along, upon 
the superior advantages we enjoyed from the 
vast acquisition of knowledge since the reforma- 
tion of Religion, the discovery of the art of Print- 
ing, the encouragement given to learning, and 
the great accumulation of valuable discoveries by 
means of experimental philosophy, 

G2 



78 

Thus did we pass our time till we arrived at| 
the Lakes, where my mind seemed at first to be 
fully absorbed in the beauties of the scenery. 
Nothing, could exceed my delij^^ht and surprise 
upon my first arrival at that most interesting part 
of the kingdom. Not content with skirting the 
different lakes, or visiting select points, I ascend- 
ed all the mountains, visited every precipice, 
viewed every cataract from above and below, ex- 
plored every valley, landed upon every island; I 
saw every lake under every circumstance that 
was possible, by day and by night, at sun-set and 
at sun-rise, at dawn and at twilight, in the sereni- 
ty of calms and the turbulence of storms:-~I was 
so struck and fascinated with the delicious scene- 
ry, so different from the southern parts of Eng- 
land, that I could scarcely be brought to sleep a 
whole night in my bed; — often would f get up by 
moon-light, and repair to the edge of the lake, to 
observe the peculiar tints occasioned by the radi- 
ance of that luminary, or if the wind blew strong, 
or the thunder roared aloud, nothing could keep 
me in my bed; for notwithstanding the insinua- 
tions of Mrs. Fidget I am apt to hope, that the 
poor Clod-pole * was no vulgar boy.' His picture, 
I think, is well enough drawn in the following 
lines: 

* In truth he was a strange, and wayward wight. 
Fond of each gentle, and each dreadful scene: 
In darkness, and in storm, he found delight, 
Nor less, than when on ocefiu Wave serene. 
The southern sun diffus'd his dazzling scene, 
Ev*n ijad vie S3 tude amus'd his soul; 
And if a sigh would sometimes intervene, 
And down his cheek a tear of pity roll, 
A sigh, a tear, so sweet he wished not to control/ 



79 

For it must not be supposed that I thought of 
nobody but myself in these romantic indulgences: 
continually did my thoughts hurry me back to 
the happy mansion of my beloved father; often did 
I wish my poor mother and sister could know 
how much amusement I had found on my journey; 
often did a tender recollection of Emily Mande- 
ville steal across me, and give a check to the 
transports of my soul; often have 1 thought as I 
gazed upon the moon, that she must be, probably, 
shining in like manner, on those so dear to me at 
a distance, and that perhaps even the eyes of 
some of them might be fixed on her at that very 
moment. As often as these ideas came across me, 
my old complaint returned; my heart beat quick- 
er, my breast heaved, till a sigh, or a tear, or a 
succession of both, came to my relief. 

Mr. Hargrave, seeing the delight I took in the 
peculiar nature of the scenery of these parts, in- 
dulged me with a longer stay there than he had 
at first intended: he was himself, indeed, little 
less interested than 1 was; and would frequently 
visit the lakes at untimely hours. In one of our 
night excursions, we passed many hours in a boat 
near one of the islands (I think they call it the 
Hermit's island) in Keswick Lake; the night was 
calm and serene; — the moon shone beautifully, — 
reflected from the surface of the lake in a long 
glittering streafli of light — gently agitated through 
its entire length by the undulations of a most re- 
freshing and delightful breeze: the fall of Low- 
dore was to be heard at a distance, dashing down 
its rugged channel. At the extremity of the boat 
we had placed a small cannon, which in the very 
depth of night we ordered to be discharged? that 



80 

we mij!;ht enjoy in full perfection, the reverbera* 
tion of the sound from the surrounding rocks and 
mountains. The effect was exceedin<i;ly striking 
and ji^rand, varied prohably by the different fea- 
tures of the several objects, from which the sound 
was returned upon our ears: first, p«riiaps, in an 
abrupt and sudden crash; then in a long murmur: 
then in a loud roar as it were, nearer to us: — as it 
was successively re-echoed from the different 
mountains, we could regularly count seven dis- 
tinct thunderstrokes, as produced by each dis- 
charge: the deep shadow cast by Skiddaw over a 
part of the scenery to the north-east, added much 
to the beauty of the landscape. 

The time at length came however, for our quit- 
ting this delicious spot, much to my regret and 
concern. The reader will easily guess how much 
mental soliloquy I had occasion to indulge, as I 
passed over these charming scenes How often 
1 must have Thought to myself, that in this 
island, or this valley, or on this side, or at the 
foot of this or that mountain, or at the point of 
this or that promontory, hid forever from the 
world by the deep shade of plaintains or of syca- 
mores, I could delight to pass the rest of my life, 
with the innocent, unassuming Emily: — the rea- 
der will easily guess how many romantic spots 1 
fixed upon for this purpose: how frequently I ex- 
ulted in the thought of boldly preferring such a 
retirement, (if any obstacles to our union should 
occur,) to all the glare and glitter and false pride 
of Nicotium Castle; but it was time for us to go. 
I believe Mr. Hargrave himself began to suspect 
that if i staid much longer, F should inevitably, 
bec^ome either a fool or a poet; so at last, he 
rather hurried me away. 



81 

We took our leaves of the lakes at Ullswater, 
proceeding by Penrith to Carlisle, and from 
thence by the celebrated Gretna Green to Glas- 
gow; we stopped of course to visit the falls of the 
Clyde in our way, and were highly delighted with 
them; — many people, we were told, were curious 
to see the officiating minister of the Gretna Cha- 
pel, but we passed on without this gratification. I 
j questioned Mr. Hargrave about him, but he cut 
nie short, by saying, * We are all upon a par, in 
regard to that ceremony; — probably in the course 
i of the year, he does just as much good as harm, 
and just as much harm as good; which, for what I 
know is the case with us all; licit or illicit, equal 
or unequal, public or private, given or stolen, find 
me the minister that can make all couples happy, 
and I will go far out of my way to see him,' 
Thinks- 1 -to -myself — my tutor is 'probably right. 

In our ay through Moffat, we were much en- 
tertained by the arrival of a large drove of cattle, 
late in the evening, attended by many drovers 
with their bag-pipes. This unexpected influx of 
national music, seemed to raise the spirits of the 
inhabitants: — many parties assembled to dance to 
the sound of these strange but favourite instru- 
ments, and more than half the night was expend- 
ed before the sound of them ceased to disturb our 
rest: — though disturbed, however, the novelty and 
nationality of it, inclined us freely to forgive 
them. In consequence of some letters Mr. Har- 
grave received at Moffat, and owing to our long 
stay at the Lakes, we were obliged to hurry 
through Glasgow, and make the best of our way 
to Edinburgh, where we arrived safely after rather 
a long but pleasant journey. 



It is particularly my design to pass over almost 
every thing that occurred during our residency 
here, as not necessary to the history 1 have un-! 
dertaken. We received great civilities frorui 
many eminent persons and distinguished families} 
in and out of Edinburgh, my letters of introduc| 
tion being many, and my connexions well knovvni 
We travelled further into Scotland as opportuni-i 
tj occurred^ and the vacations admitted. We" 
visited Aberdeen, and some of the nortiern lakes: 
— the Highlands also, some of the Western Isles, 
and particular! V Staffa, with which I was delight- 
ed, at so extraordinary and grand a specimen of 
that singular natural production, the Basaltic pil- 
lar.— None of these things do I attempt to describe 
here: — it is necessary jast to touch upon tliem, 
because. Thinks- 1 4o -myself, how shall I otherwise 
get the reader to consent to skip over two years 
of my life. 

In the correspoadence that passed between my 
family and myself, during my residence at Edin- 
burgh: I heard not mucli of the neighbourhood of 
Grumblethorpe. The first letter I'had from my 
sister announced the death of Mrs. Creepmouse, 
with all the particulars of her last paralytic seiz- 
ure, where she was to be buried, &c. Thinks-T- 
tO'Viyself—^va-^tly interesting indeed! I looked in 
vain for any tiling about the MandevUies, except 
as far as they were included in the following 
conaprehensive clause, — * All the neighbours are 
very anxious in their inquiries after you'— I was 
wicked enough to fancy an erratum ought to have 
been added, namely, for * are* read * appear:^ for 
that Mrs. Fidget, for instance, or the Miss Fid- 
gets had really made any very anxious inquiries 



8S 

iftev me, (the ideot, the Clod-pole, the half-starved 
zhimney sweeper) was< I confess, a matter of much 
Joubt. Thinks I -to -myself, my dear sister knows 
little of the world, or she would have written ap- 
pear at once. I learnt that Miss Twist frequent- 
ly called there in her rides, and had paid two 
long visits, since I came away. *I believe,' says 
my sister, in her letter, * You are rather a favour- 
ite, for she is continually singing;, * When Delia on 
the plain appears,'' since I told her it was an air of 
which you were particularly fond.' The second 
letter I had did, however, mention the Man- 
devilles:—* You will be sorry to hear,' says my 
mother, *that your old acquantance, Emily Man- 
deville, has been long ill; — her complaint i& 
thought to be nervous; poor Mrs. Mandeville is in 
much care about her; — the rest are all pretty 
well.' 

Now in what manner t shall be expected by the 
reader to have borne this shock, I am not able to 
say: for I shall (no doubt) have a vast number of 
different svrts of readers: — some very sensible 
souls, perhaps, will think I swooned away imme- 
diately;— some, that I fell back lifeless, with my 
eyes fixed and my mouth wide open; — some, that 
I fell a sighing; and some that I fell a crying; — 
some, that 1 turned sick: — some, that I opened 
the window, and was going to precipitate myself 
from it immediately, but was prevented: — (N. B. 
One of the back windows m the old town of Edin- 
burgh, fifteen stories high,)--somp, perhaps, will 
fancy 1 ordered a chaise directly, or a horse, or 
took a place in the mail coach; they would be all 
mistaken; for I only know that / put the letter in 
my pocket, and, as breakfast was waiting for me^ 



84 

I went directly to Mr. Hargrave: — he said, * Yoi 
have a letter from Grumblethorpe, how do thej 
all do?' — ' Quite well,' says I, ' and desire to b« 
remembered to you.' As Mr. H. had the news- 
paper to read, I had no occasion to talk, but I sai 
him every now and then look very hard at mej 
and I concluded I had, in a fit of absence, don< 
something strange; I determined therefore to bi 
more attentive, but no attention would do, for all 
of a sudden, poor Mr. Hargrave jumped up, two 
yards I believe, from the ground. — * Zounds!' sa^s 
he, * Mr. Dermont, what is all this?^ Poor man, he 
had great reason to complain, for in filling the 
tea-pot, I had totally forgotten to turn back the 
cock of the urn, and there being an unfortunate 
breach on the side of the parapet of the tea-board, 
the over-flowings of the hot water found vent 
there, descending regularly, but very rapidly, 
in a grand parabola, directly upon his breeches, 
below; luckily the scalding quality of the water j 
was somewhat abated, as the breakfast was near-^ 
ly over, but it was quite hot enough fully to justi- 
fy the extraordinary altitude of the jump he took , 
from his seat, as well as the horrible word that(' 
issued from his reverend mouth; had it been a lit- 
tle hotter, or had it happened a little sooner, it 
would have killed him. As it was, the sop he was 
in, and the fright he had suffered, justly deserved 
to be classed among the miseries of the tea-table, j 
Now if any body should be at all disposed toj 
fancy that this accident was connected with thel 
passage in my mother's letter, they are welcome to ^ 
think so:— -l found afterwards from Mr. Hargrave, 
that he had judged me to be going mad before, for 
that I had twice, as near as could be, when my 



85 

cup was empt}^, made his cup my slop-bason, and 
successively bit one great mouthful out of six 
pieces of toast, without once eating the remainder, 
which of course, lay littered about the table. 

Before I had quite recollected myself, 1 retired 
again to my chamber, telling Mr., Hargrave, I 
must answer my letter by return of the post; he 
said if that was the case, he should walk to Leitb, 
so that 1 got all the morning to myself: I took my 
pen and immediately began, — ' My dear mother;^ 
after looking at these three parts of speech, for a 
quarter of an hour, I took another sheet, and be- 
gan — * My dear sis'er,' and then 1 looked at these 
three words as I had done at the other, for a se- 
cond quarter of an hour: at last I took a third 
sheet: and began, — ^ My dear father:^ — Thinks-I- 
to-myself, if 1 tell him all about it, perhaps 1 shall 
get leave to write to Emily herself: but I kept 
looking at these three words longer than ever, 
without being able to stir a step further: then I 
thought, what if I boldly write to the dear girl 
herself at once, in verse! tender verse! Who 
knows but it may recover her if she pines for my 
absence^ which I could not help fancying, or for- 
bear hoping, was the exact cause of her malady: 
I took therefore a longer sheet of paper, which 
they call foolscap: — Thinks -I-to -my self, after- 
wards, a mighty proper name! I had always a 
knack at writing verses from a child, but now my 
Muse seemed to be most desperately unkind: I 
walked up and down the room, I verily think, for 
two hours together, at the very least; and as the 
reader perhaps might wish to see a specimen of 
the fruits of my prolific brain at the end of these 

H 



S6 

two hours; he or she shall have a correct copy of 
the wbole.—^ 







a/^-^Ui^- U^A^uf^ <^V«i>9Q^ •»**^.«rW ^w'^Aci^J 




This is a faithful draft of the fOnd effusion of ray 
overflowing heart, in which my readers may (if 
they study it close) discern, that in the whole two 
hours, I had not accomplished any thing like a 
beginning. I had invented, by much straining, 
about ten different apostrophes to stand at the 
head of my epistles, but not one would do. 

Luckily for me, before I had quite and entirely 
lost my wits, Mr. H., driven back by bad weather, 
returned to the lodgings, and coming up to my 
room, begged of me, if I had not sealed my letter. 



ST 

to tell my mother that he had procured for my 
sister the music she wished to have, and would 
send it by the first opportunity: this gave my mind 
relief directly; Isat down and began another let- 
ter, as before — ' My dear mother,' and scribbled 
on without once stopping till I got to the end of 
the paper; all the obstacles were overcome, the 
moment Mr. H. gave me something for a begin- 
ning, and I very fairly inserted in my letter the 
following clause, in plain, sensible, unsophisticat- 
ed language: • I am extremely sorry to hear Miss 
Mandeville is so unwell, pray, when you write 
next, mention how she is.' I was quite astonish- 
ed to see with what ease I wrote it, and by how 
much the best way it appeared of expressing my 
anxiety. It seemed quite to revive my heart, and 
1 joined Mr. Hargrave, after finishing my letter, 
with my spirits quite exhilarated. I kept the 
daubed sheet of foolscap, thinking if ever I saw 
poor Emily again, I would certainly give it her, 
as a proof of the folly and madness of my passion 
for her. 

It was nearly three weeks from this time be- 
fore I heard again from Grumblethorpe. At 
length came a long letter from my mother, which 
r opened wide, and turned and twisted about, but 
without seeing the name I wanted I read it; it 
contained thanks to Mr. H. — a long account of a 
concert at the Twist's, at which my company was 
much desired; many directions to take care of 
myself, and to remember that the North was 
bleaker than the South. My hopes seemed to be 
at an end; I felt like a person listening to the 
reading of a will, by which he had expected to 
have inherited a large fortune, but without hear- 



88 



^ 



ing so much as his name mentioned: at length, 
just as I was going to put it in my pockety I spied 
something written on each side of the vacq.ncy 
that had been left for the seal. It was just as 
though my fortune was at last made, by the disco- 
very and operation of a twentieth codicil; for lo! 
and behold, there it was written in small charac- 
ters indeed, but delightfully legible: ' I had almost 
forgotten to tell you, that your old play-fellow, 
Emily Mandeville. is thought to be better. I read 
to her the part of your letter in which you inquir- 
ed after her, and she desired me to say you were 
very good to think of her at so great a distance.' 
Ihinks Lto myself, distance indeed! I kssed the 
letter over and over again; put it in my pocket, and 
took it out agaiii; opened it, read it, put it up again: 
opened it again and read it; opened my waistcoat, 
and laid it upon my heart while it was bumping, 
and at night, 1 slept with it under my pillow. 
Now every thing had become easy to me. 1 had 
only to pray that she might not get well; as long 
as she continued ill, I found I could ask after her, 
express my concern for her, get my letters read to 
her, and even receive messages from her in return. 
I was now as happy as a lark, and had I had wings, 
could have soared as high in the sunshine, whistling 
and singing all the way up to heaven, my thoughts 
were so full of my old play-fellow, (as my mother 
called her.j that it was a great mercy I did not 
do Mr. Hargrave some serious mischief; either by 
scalding him to death at breakfast, cutting off his 
head with the carving knife at dinner, or burning 
him in his bed at night, by sitting up to read my 
mother's postscript over and over again. 

Luckily he did all he could to cool my passion; 



89 

for though it was in the depth of winter, he 
choose the very next day to s(3t off'upon an excur- 
sion to Aberdeen: on one day of our journey we 
were overtaken by a dismal fall of snow: — as Mr. 
H. was not very well, he stopped at a house we 
came to, just as it began, while I went forward to 
the inn; he told me he would follow vir.e when it 
ceased, but that if it continued he would join me 
the next day 

I rode on, and at length was compelled to stop 
at a most dreary inn, (if inn it could be called,) 
just on the skirts of a wide heath, which I did not 
dare to pass, as the road was totally obliterated. 
I therefore dismounted, an<l being blessed with 
money enough to command all the accommoda- 
tions the houise could supply, I got a roasting fire, 
ana plenty of eggs and bacon, &c. for my early 
dinner: but I confess, when I saw the snow con- 
tinue to fall, and reflected that I was separated 
from my companion, and had nothing to amuse 
me and engage my attention but the dismal ex- 
panse of heath before my window, my spirits be- 
gan to flag; I begged a book to read: but what 
was rather surprising in Scotland, they had but 
one in the house, and that had been left there by 
a traveller: I greedily caught it when it arrived; 
but alas! it was but of small comfort: I wonder 
what the reader would guess it to be; perhaps a 
volume of Shakespeare, or Ossian; perhaps Chevy' 
Cliacey or the Battle of FLodden Field, or Marmionl 
No, none of these I can assure him. Perhaps the 
Spectator or Guardian, or the History of Mary, 
^ueen of Scots; — no, none of these, but a plain 
and unadorned edition of the London Directory!! 
in which the exits and entrances of all the coaches 

H 2 



90 

and waggons, out of and info the me(ropolis, iti 
the course and compass of every week, with 
every inn they put up at and depart from, were 
most charmingly registered, and all the informa- 
tion communicated that could be given upon 
topics so highly interestingJ 

My despair was now complete. Thinks-I-to- 
mysetfy I shall certainly die of the vapours. I sat 
at the window till my heart quite ached. I had, 
not long before, been reading Burns'' Winter 
JSTighty nor was it possible to forget Thomson^s 
beautiful but dismal description of the poor lost 
cottager. Thi7iks-I-to -myself, as I cast my eyes 
over the h&a.th, just what follows, which you may 
call- a poem if you please. If it \vid fourteen 
lines it perhaps might pass for a Sonnet; how it 
came into any shape but that of a soliloquy, I 
should be puzzled to tell you. 

THE SNOW STORM. 
I. 

stay thy forbodings, busy busy Mind! 

Why need's! thou feel the bitter blasts that blow? 
Why needst thou shudder at the W^inter's wind, 

The petrifying- frost, and di-iving- snow? 
Do notdTor thee reviving embers glow? 

Is not for thee the ready table spread? 
Does not for thee the horn of plenty flow? 

TAow art no begger of thy daily bread! 
11. 
Yet thou sitt'st trembhng o'er thy brooding thought, 

As if thou wert unshelter'd and forlorn; 
Shudd'ring at scenes of ^oo, 2\\ fancy-wrought; 

Some shiv'ring soul to luckless fortune born, 
From weeping wife, and famish'd children torn, 

' Wildered and lost in trackless depths of snow! 
At such self-painted prospects must thou mourn! 

Must the sigh heave, and tear of sorrow flow! 



91 

III. 

It is perhaps full human so to do, 

For, what were life if pity took her flig-ht! 
It is full well to feel for other's wo. 

Yet let ihy faith persuade thee, * all is right!' 
The wretch that sinks may rise rom his dark night, 

To brighter scenes of bHss that shall not cease; 
Meet his fond friends in realms of endless light. 

Perpetual sunshine, and perpetual peace! 

I think they are tolerable pretty and pathetic 
for a Clod pole; — but of this you may be well as- 
sured, gentle reader, that you will not find one 
fault in them, of which I am not myself aware, 
only I leave them to your civility ^nd feeling, ra- 
ther than stop to mend them, as they were writ- 
ten so long ago. 

The next day Mr. Hargrave joined me; if I 
were to tell you what happened to him at the place 
he put up at, it would make bot* your ears to tin- 
gle, and you would certainly split your sides with 
laughing; but you see I have got to go to Aber- 
deen to night, if possible, and so cannot stop to 
tell it you; none of you can expect that I should, 
who knows how precious a thing time is: — we 
made the best of our way to Aberdeen, after we 
had got together again, though at no small risk of 
being lost from the driftirig of the snow. 

Mr. Hargrave was well known to one of the 
professors Aberdeen, who received us most civil- 
ly. We stayed there but a very short time. 
While we were there, Mr. H. intimated, that the 
journey was undertaken solely on my father's ac- 
count and mine: though he woulil not explain 
himself farther. I learnt the whole of it after- 
wards; nothing very particular occurred at Aber- 
deen, (the account of the place itself may be 



92 

found elsewhere,) nor upon our return to Edin- 
burgh. When I got back to the latter place, I 
found another letter from Grumblethorpe, written 
very soon after the former: all it said of Miss 
Mandeville, was, *they are all well at the Vicar- 
age; Emily grows better daily.' 

I know not whether the reader will have taken 
any pains to calculate how long I have been at 
Edinburgh, I have looked a little over the fore- 
going pages to see if 1 could make it out, but, I 
must confess, it seems to me to be rather a mys- 
tery; I wish it to be so, and that's the truth; be- 
cause as I know 1 shall be made responsible for 
all these things, if my book falls into the hands of 
any of those catch poles, the Reviewers, I wish to 
do things decently at least, and not fall into any 
violent anachronism or breach of consistency. 

I want to have been at Edinburgh two years, 
and to be supposed to have studied hard, and to 
have become a proficient in Mathematics, Juris- 
prudence, Chemistry, Anatomy, Nosology, Bo- 
tany, &c., and I am not sure that 1 have taken 
quite time enough for all this: it seems somewhat 
strange to me, but it looks, I must confess, as if I 
had not received above three or four letters from 
home, during the whole two years, which would 
be preposterous; however, upon examining the 
bundle I have got, I find that this is a mere de- 
ception. In fact I received many from my sister 
and father that I have not mentioned. 1 have 
merely noticed those that had any thing in them 
concerning my dear, dear, deary dea, de, d,rr rr r 
Emily!!! 

The time came, in short, (for time will come, 
whether we will or no,) for our return into the 



south of Britain. Mr. Hargrave began to call in 
his accounts, and I saw plainly that we were be- 
ginning to depart: we had large packages to 
send a way, of fossils and other natural curi- 
osities, for the whole of Scotland abounds in such 
things, and we had meddled with them pretty 
much. They were not mere baubles, or cabinet 
specimens, that we sent home; we had collected 
abundance of things illustrative of different theo- 
ries of the earth. We were neither of us disposed 
to become Huttonians, and that is all I wish to say 
upon that subject at present. 

On the eighteenth of March, one thousand seven 
hundred and blank, (for I don't wish to let you 
too deeply into the secret) we took our leave of 
Edinburgh. Journeying home eastward, as we 
had entered it westerly, we stopped at Dunbar to 
see the Basaltic Columns there, whicli are certain- 
ly extremely curious. We passed one day at 
* our town of Berwick on Tweed,' as the Briefs 
say. We visited the Holy Island also, (but heard 
no tolling of the midnight bell,) and proceeded 
on to Newcastle, after visiting Alnwick Castle, 
the seat of his Grace of iSorthumberland: — the 
figures upon the top of the castle, in the act, as it 
were, of sustaining a siege, amused me much; 
perhaps they are all removed or decayed before 
this. 

At Newcastle we visited the Colleries, and de- 
scended in their mine- buckets, (or baskets rather.) 
We stopped a whole day at Durham:- I believe 
Mr. Hargrave wished to examine into the circum- 
stances of that great prize in the Ecclesiastical 
Lottery; not with any expectation of it, for though 
no man could be more worthy of it, yet undoubt- 



94 

edly no man could be less covetous ot^ ambitious, 
but by way of seeing what he might have attained 
to in his profession, had he been lesa worthy or 
more covetous, or more ambitious: J\^ota Bene^ 
however, that just as I am writing this, that See 
happens to be in the hands of a most munificent 

?)relate, and [ wish it may never be in worse 
lands; for, Thinks-I-to- myself, 

* He that does g-ood with his money and pelf. 
Is il help to his neig-hbouf as well as himself.* 

¥romJ)urham we went regularly on upon the 
great London road- Mr. Hargrave had promised 
to see me safe home, otherwise we should have 
parted in Lincolnshire, where we first met. 

. As I got nearer and pearer to Grumblethorpe, 
I will leave any one to guess how my heart felt. 
It did not bump for Emily Mandeville only, it 
bumped for my excellent father, my dear and in- 
valuable mother, and for my sister, whom I loved 
like myself. Mr. Hargrave, himself, felt delight- 
ed at the thoughts of seeing Grumblethorpe again, 
for nothing, I believe, could possibly exceed his 
regards respect and veneration for my father and 
mother. 

1 he driver, whom we took from the last stage, 
had never been at Grumblethorpe Hall before, so 
that instead of going straight, as he should have 
done; to the end of the avenue, he managed to 
make for an entrance of the park, which inevita^ 
bl}^ carried us past the Vicarage, by a road seldom 
travelled. The novelty of a carriage coming that 
way, naturally drew all the family to the window, 
and I had the pleasure of beholding the whole 
groupe, as I suppose, for I could not quite distin^ 



95 

guish them: I would have given the woHil to have 
got out, but I felt it to be little less than sacri- 
lege, to deprive my good /ai/f^r and mother SLiid 
sister of the first-greetings: I therefore contented 
myself with only kissing my hand over and over 
again to them, and passing on. We at length 
drove up to the very steps of the hall; immediately 
the doors flew open, and there stood my father, 
mother, sister, and many old servants ready to 
receive us. I ran into their arms, and was for 
some time quite overcome with the affectionate 
and sincere caresses I received. 

Mr. Hargrave demanded much of their atten- 
tion, and helped, of course, to disembarrass mat- 
ters: — in short, we were at last safely landed at 
the Hall again; — the trees I had wished good-bye 
to, stood where they did: — the posts and the pail* 
ings also: — but probably all the geese and turkies 
that I had envied so much, as I parted from them 
two years before, had been killed and eaten, so 
that, upon the whole, I was by far the best off after 
all; all envy probably is of the same nature, and 
equally ill-tounded. 

We had, of course, a long list of inquiries to 
answer, nor had 1 few to make. I found that the 
neighbourhood, in general, remained as it was, on- 
ly that Mrs. Creepmouse was dead, as I have men- 
tioned, and Miss Fidget had gone off with the foot- 
man: the lovely, fine, puny, sickly, troublesome 
boy, was gone to school, and Miss Charleville, 
with whom I partly fell in love, as 1 have de- 
scribed, was married to the earl of Fitz-Arling- 
ton. 

The next morning, many messages of inquiry 
Were sent, to know how Mr. Robert Dermont 



96 

did, &c., and the next morning to that I had th( 
honour of receiving many visits; for now I wj 
Tio longer regarded as a boy. 1 was the heir ap- 
parent to the Hail, come to years of tolerable dis- 
ct'etion: perhaps the reader will wonder, whethei 
I have been to the Vicarage yet; actually not! Il 
was close to it, and I felt tJiat to be almost enough:' 
sooner than precipitate matters, I choose to stayj 
away. I even visited Nicotium Castle first: if anyj 
body takes this for indifference^ they are fools, Ij 
say it without scruple. They know nothing of 
the strange inconsistencies and mysteries of lovei 
They were all extremely glad to see me at Nico- 
tium Castle, but to say they were highly delight-! 
ed, might exceed the truth: Miss Twist bestowed 
upon me nothing warmer than a few mob courte- 
sies, and Mrs. Twist was more formal than fa- 
miliar: nevertheless, I saw plainly, with only half 
an eye, as the saying is, that Nicotium Castle was 
mine if I choose to ask for it. 

After visiting Nicotium Castle, my father him- 
self proposed going to the Vicarage: he little •^ 
thought what was the state of my poor heart.l 
We rode there, therefore, and found them all at I 
home, except Mr. Mandeville; Emily, I thought, 
looked shockingly, but she seemed heartily glad 
to see me, only ashamed to show it; we behaved 
to each other as shyly as possible; we just shook 
hands, and that was all. I said I was glad to see 
her better; Mrs. Mandeville observed, that she 
had been very ill indeed, and had I spoken my 
mind honestly, 1 ought to have said that I was ve- 
ry glad of it, for so 1 really was on many accounts; 
had she continued in rude health and high spirits 
all the while I had been absent, my love probably 



97 

might have abated, but as it was, I felt more tha» 
ever attached to her; because she had been ill, and 
because she looked ill; What a monstrous strange 
complaint love is! 

Miss Twist had been as well as possible all the 
while; I don't think she had had even a cold or a 
cough, nor had her spirits once changed; she had 
talked about me, T believe, and sung Delia, and 
thought often, probably, about my Coronet; but 
h;*d any news arrived of the Coronet's having 
flown away, I very much question whether Delia 
would ever have been sung again: however, I must 
not be too severe, for I verily believe, had NicotL- 
um Castle flown away, or Miss Grizilda been dis- 
inherited, my good father would have thought no- 
thing about her; she was certainly not altogether 
a favourite. 

Mr. Hargrave surprised me very much one 
morning, by letting me into a secret of which I 
had before no suspicion at all, namely, that in my 
absence, my sister Caroline had had an oS'er from 
Captain Charleville, and that it was likely to be- 
come a match. I was heartily rejoiced at this 
news, because the family was truly amiable, and 
I was very certain that my sister was not likely 
to have fallen in love merely with his Peerage and 
Coronet, which I too justly suspected to be the 
case with Miss Twist. 

My father and Mr. Hargrave, of course, passed 
much of their time together, and 1 suppose my 
future fortunes and destinies occupied much, if 
not most of their attention. I managed as I could 
to visit the Vicarage, which was seldom; nor (had 
1 had ever so good an opportunity) did 1 feel sufli- 
cientiy at liberty to avow my attachment openly. 



98 

t certainly often looked and sighed, and sighed and 
looked, in a way that must have excited great sus- 
picions, and I am doubtful whether I was always 
sufficiently careful to avoid pressing her hand, 
and saying what some people call * soft things to 
her.' 

In the mean time, the communications with 
Nicotium Castle were frequent; they were con- 
tinually coming to us, and we going to them; in 
all our evening amusements. Miss Twist and my. 
self seemed, by some fatal circumstance or other, 
to be brought together: if we played at cards we 
were always placed next to each other; if we 
danced, she was to be my partner; if there was 
music, she sung Delia, and He that ' would ap- 
proach but dare not move^'' was sure to be me; if 
we played at forfeits, we were doomed to go be- 
hind the curtain together, and if we played at 
consequences, we were sure to meet in a wood, and 
the end was kissing. All these things produced 
remarks, and insinuations, and suspicions, and re- 
ports, and expectations, so that I doubt not many 
thought the ring was bought, and a special license 
sent for, and Nicotium Castle thoroughly settled 
upon me and my heirs, whereas, never had my 
consent been in any manner, whatsoever, thought 
of: they were all reckoning without their host. 

But one day, contrary to all my expectations, I 
was put into a considerable fright; for who should 
attack me, but my dear friend, Mr. Hargrave. As 
we were walking together one day, towards the 
memorable 2\'ist stile, he began upon the subject: 
says he, ' How happy am I to think that your sis- 
ter is likely to marry so well* what a comfort will 
it be to your worthy father and mother, to see hei- 



99 

not only so well settled, but united to so near and 
respectable a neighbour: the marriage of a daugh- 
ter is a matter of extreme anxiety, what then must 
be the marriage and settlement of an only son, 
heir to the whole paternal inheritance? Upon 
your choice, in this particular, my dear young 
friend, must depend far more than your own hap- 
piness, — the honour and happiness of those now 
alive, and, by reflection, the honour at least of 
that long list of progenitors, from whom you are 
likely to inherit title and dignity: in your choice, 
one thing seems chiefly to be considered: to de- 
grade yourself by a connection in every way be- 
low^ you, would be base indeed; to be particular 
about family, seems unnecessary; your own being 
already sufficiently conspicuous; fortune then is 
the thing that seems most to be attended to; riches 
tend to break down many distinctions, and why 
should the great be backv/ard to asshtin ennoblmg 
those who may be willing to enrich them?" I sure- 
ly thought the whole business was coming out, and 
at this moment, 1 dare say, the reader expects the 
same, — but no such thing: he soon after ended his 
discourse, by saying, '- Therefore, my good friend, 
when you begin to look out for a wife, think of 
these things.' 

* My dear Sir,' says I, taking up the conver- 
sation, • suffer me to make one remark: — if every 
man was to be supposed to be equally at liberty, 
deliberately to look out, as you call it, for that ac- 
commodation called a wife, I might promise to 
obey your injurtctions, but I have heard that some 
people can pop upon a wife before they are aware 
of it, without any ' looking ouV at all:— that some 
people have been known to marry for neither hon- 



100 

our nor riches, and to be unable io do otherwise, 
spite of their teeth: — jou seem to me, nij dear 
Sir, to have proposed but two cases to my conside- 
ration;— first, to look out tor a wife when neces- 
sary, and next, to make such a choice as may help 
to enrich myself, while I ennoble my elect: — now 
what am I to do, if I find a wife, without looking 
out for one, and she should happen to be poor:— 
is it quite forbidden me to take a wife that 1 find 
by accident, be she never so good, or, if I feel dis- 
posed to ity to ennoble the umndowed? — \ am not 
talking of persons in every way below »ne, which 
to marry, as you say, would be base indeed, — but 
what am I to do, if while I am • looking out->^ with 
all my eyes for a rich heiress of low degree^ to 
raise and ennoble the twentieth child of some poor 
gentleman, should it come in my way, endowed 
with every virtue under the sunr' Mr. Hargrave 
had no idea that I meant any thing serious, 1 be- 
lieve, so that he only laughed at my method of 
parrying his attack — We soon after returned to 
the Hall, where the Twists were engaged to dine 
with us, in a snug sort of way. 

They came a little before five. I had, as usual, 
to sit next to Miss Twist, and to bear, as well as 
I coultl, many jokes, hints, insinuations, &c., as 
well as many plain advances on the part of the 
young lady, not at all in the way of love and re- 
gard, but of affectation and vanity, as tiiough pre- 
suming upon the irresistability of her three hun* 
dred thousand charms. 

Unfortunately, (that is, I mean, for three such 
terrible noodles as my father, Mr. Hargrave, and 
myself, who v/ere no amateurs of the art of box- 
ing) just as the ladies had retired, my father hap- 



101 

pened to ask Mr. Twist what had carried him to 
London in such extreme haste five days a^o? 
For as we were going to church on the preceding 
Sunday, he had passed us in his chaise and four, 
as if he had been on an errand of life and death: 
— ' 0,' says he, * I went to be present at the fa- 
mous match between Hob Gubbins and Big Beel- 
zebub, — I had a bet with Lord , of seven 

to four upon Bob. It was a tight battle 1 assure 
you: — Bob had the best of it for seventeen rounds 
at the least, and would certainly have kf, only 
Big Beelzebub happened to put in such a con- 
founded hit under his left jaw, just as he was re- 
turning to the eighteenth rally, that knocked him 
over and over, and i verily thought that all the 
sport would be at an end, and that he must have 
died on the spot: it was noble sparring till then; I 
never saw Bob fight better; Big Beelzebub, atone 
time, bled at every channel nose, mouth, eyes, 
ears, neck, shoulder, back, breast; — it would have 
done your heart good to have seen it. 

Thinks-Ito-myself, my Father's hearty indeeed! 

* The first round,' continued Mr. Twist, * both 
sparred with great caution; Bob began with a neat 
right-handed hit, which being smartly returned, 
they fell to: Bob seemed to give way at first, but 
in a short time rallied, and threw such a devil 
of a parcel of straight blows into Beelzebub's 
throat and breast; that his mouth burst out with 
blood, and down he fell; — so that to my great joy, 
the first blood and first fall, were both completely 
in Bob's favour: — Big Beelzebub rose weak and 
sickish; — Bob threw several blows anay by round- 
hitting, but at length overset Big Beelzebub again, 
by .one of the sharpest right-hand facers I ever 



102 

saw: Big Beelzebub rallied, and put in a tight 
blow on Bob's mouth, which broke two of his 
grinders, but he kept his ground, and again threw 
his opponent, after boring him all round the ring. 
I am confid'^nt Bob would have got the best of it, 
but for his last unlucky fall: but I'll tell you what: 
— you may depend upon it, if he don't die, (which 
is ten chances to one but he does) and big Beel- 
zebub ever recovers his sight, (which is at present 
thought impossible,) I will make another match 
betwiH'en them as soon as I can, and shall have ho 
scruple to take the same bets on Bob; for I never 
saw a fellow throw in his blows better in my life 
than my friend Bob did, or do more to cripple his 
man:- I'll be bound he'll completely do him next 
time.' 

Unluckily, the effect this delicate and delicious 
display of Mr. Twist's eloquence had upon my fa- 
ther, Mr. Hargrave, and myself, was to make us 
completely silent, not only during the whole of its 
continuance, but when he had got fairly to the 
end, so that before we could recover from the state 
of disgust (and sickness almost) into which he 
had thrown us, he abruptly turned aside to a 
fresh topic little less interesting. -■ — 

* But. only think,' says he, ' Mr. Dermont, of 
poor Tom BashP — * What of him?' says my fa- 
ther. * Shot himself!' says Mr. Twist: — * 1 had 
not heard a word of it,' says my father; — * it must 
be him,^ says Mr. Twist; and pulling a newspa- 
per from his pocket,—* Here,' says he, * is the 
only public account I have seen of it;' — 'It is 
with extreme concern,'^ — * Aye, well they may 
say so, indeed; poor Tom! a better whip did not 
exist; such a stud of horses!!' * It is with extreme 



I ^ lOS 

I concern we hear, that a gentlemen, very celebrated 
in the sporting world, (aye, celebrated he was in- 
deed, the finest and boldest rider you ever saw, and 
such a shotlj put an end to his existence yesterday, 
at an inn not very distant from the metropolis ;^-~> 

* aye, at Salthill, he was a member of the Whip 
Club; four beautiful roans he used to drive, so 
steady in harness, he was one of the best whips 
among them;' — ' but,' says my father, * how df> you 
know it was him, his name is not mentioned?' — 
' O, but I have it here in a private letter from a 
friend,^ says Mr. Twist, pulling out from his pock- 
et, of such a shape and colour as I scarce ever 
saw before; — • it is from Sir Harry Hark -a ^vay's 
huntsman, with whom I occasionally correspond:' 
— here, at the bottom of his letter he says, — I sup- 
pose your Honner will have heered oljjp^re Mus- 
ter Dash!! (Muster Dash, he writes, ftir he can't 
spell very well, and indeed I can scarce read his 
writing:)-7-I suppose you will have heered of pure 
Muster Dash! what a Moll and Colly event has 
be, be, be, be,'— the Devil, the fellow writes such 
a hand, I can't really read it, — ' be wappered him,' 
I think it is; « perhaps,' says my father, he-fallen 
him?' — • O, aye, befallen him,' savs Mr. Twist, 

* so it is: — What a Moll and Colly event has be- 
fallen him at Salt Hill!— Aye, that's the place, 
you see, exactly, — an Inn not very far distant 
from the Metropolis^there he shot himself, cer- 
tainly:' — *^But why shot himself?' says my father, 
*I dont see that you have learnt that yet.' — ' What, 
do you think he'd hang himself,' says Mr. Twist, 
hastily, * like a scoundrel, or go through the tedi- 
ous ceremony of poisoning himself! If his exis- 
tence is terminated, as I too much fear, depend 



104 

upon it, it was by a bullet, and from his own hand; 
— Tom was not a bungler: — I wonder what v/ill 
become of his stud; — I should like to have his 
roans myself; — when I was a member of the Lei- 
tester hunt, he used to ride a famous colt of 
Ecljpses, so like, thatO'Kellj himself offered him 
40u jiuineas for it, merely on account of its like- 
ness; — not a hair difference;-^If you had but seen 
that horse take a leap; — it was quite a grand 
sight; so cool, so steady; a child might have rode 
him!— he used to rise and look round, as it were, 
to see if there were any stakes or bad ground on 
the other side, and whatever there might be, he 
was sure to clear it. — I never sha'l forget a run 
we had one thirteenth of November; — ^bitter cold 
laorning; — long time before v/e found: — we were 
sitting on our hoises together, under a wood, and 
1 pulled out a hunting flask 1 had full of brandy, 
that I would not have lost for the world:— just as 
poor Tom had got it to his mouth to drink, they 
unkennelled the fox; — instead of returning my 
poor bottle into my possession, he threw it fiom 
him into the thickest part of the wood behind 
ium, and off he went:— I never got near him again 
the whole day:— the horse was fitter for a race 
horse, but he would not run him, except for the 
hunter's plate opce at Ascot, where he won hol- 
Iow:r-poor Tom! well, it's well he came to no 
worse end! he was as ^ear hanged once as could be;' 
— * How so?' says Mr- ^argrave— * Why the case, 
you see,' says Mr. T>vist, ' was exactly this:— I 
had it from one that was there:— At a tavern din- 
ner at Liverpool, one day, Tom, being in the chair, 
proposed a profane toast;— the man that sat next 
to him refused to drink it;--T()ai insisted;— the 



105 

! man would not: he declared he would not only 
not drink it, but if he knew the inventor of it, he 
should be disposed to chastise him: * JKut'if it were 
met myself, Sir,' says Tom, ' I suppose?' (for in fact 
it was his own invention;) — • Yes, Sir,' says the 
other, if it were you yourself, you-^ — upon which 
Tom, who had plenty of pepper in his blood, 
threw a glass of wine plump in his face, — you 
may be pretty sure it was not easy to hush such 
a matter up; — pistols were procured by the friends 
of each party, and they went out immediately;— 
at the very first fire, Tom's ball passed through 
his heart, and he dropt just as dead as a pancake. 
—Tom made off, as you may suppose, and it was 
well he did, for the fellow he killed was much be- 
loved, and was well connected, and had a wife 
and nine children, so that you may easily think it 
made a pretty dust: — Tom got abroad some how 
or other, and there he staid till all the proceedings 
against him were supposed to be at an end; but 
as he certainly gave great provocation, had he 
been caught and tried before some illiberal old wo- 
man of a judge, he would certainly have been 
hanged.' — Hmiks I-to -myself hanging would have 
been a thousand times too good for him. 

• But, pray,' says my father * How can you call 
it a better end that he is come to now, if it be true 
that he has s/jof himself?'' ' He could not possibly, 
my dear Sir,' says Mr Twist, ' have done a better 
deed; — he was completely dished: he could never 
have appeared again: the rest of his days must, 
probably, have been passed in the king's bench:' 
— * I don't quite know, 1 wist,' says my father, 
* what you mean by dished, but I should just wish 
to ask, where you think the rest of his days will be 



106 

passed nowi^' * 0,' says Mr. Twist, ' faith, I 
never thought of that: mj neighbour here, Mr 
Hargrave, perhaps, would answer that better than 
me; but poor Tom, I must confess, I believe, did 
j\Qt much think of passing his time any where but 
here^ and when he was tired of it, he made his 
bow, and away he went;' — <and left,' says my fa- 
ther, * all his brother whips to follow, I suppose;' 
• follow tvhereP^ says Mr. Twist. * I don't know,' 
i^ays my father, • but not I think where they used 
to follow him, which was generally, I apprehend, 
to the stable:^ — 'aye, often indeed,' says Mr. 
Twist, 'they did: it would have done your heart 
good to have seen the style in which he kept his 
horses:' 'Well,' says my father, *1 am glad of 
that for the sake of the poor horses, for, for what 
1 know, they might be very sensible and worthy 
horses, and desey^ve to be pampered and high fed;* 
—• they did indeed,' says Mr. Twist, not at all 
seeing the drift of the insinuation. 

* VN ell,' says my father, * but what do you real- 
ly think Tom Dash will ever do in a world with- 
out horses, or stables, or whips, or hounds, or birds, 
or guns? * I don't think he'll go there,' says Mr. 
Twist: — ' hold,' says my father, • remember Twist, 
he must go if he's called, and he can't shoot him- 
self out of that world as he shot himself out of 
this:' — * that 1 can't tell,' says Mr. Twist, — • but 
surely,' says my father, * you can't think he will 
have that power;' — * i tell you,' says Mr. Twist, 
' I don't know, but of this 1 am very certain, that 
he had power to go out of this world when" he 
chose, and he made use of it.' ' It seems to be 
just as you say,' says my father,' and yet I much 
question the truth of it:' — 'How so,' says Mr. 



1, lOr 

i twist, *what, did'nt he shoot himself?' '0! I 
I don't deny that,' says my father, * but I much 
I doubt whether he can fairly bfe said to have had 
' power to do it; — you, yourself, could certainly 
shoot me at this moment, if you chose it, but da 
you think the law has given you power to do it? 
Do you think you could safely do it, without any 
: chance of an after- reckoning?' *0, O,' says Mr. 
' Twist, * I smoke you now; — you think suicide not 
lawfulP * I do,' says my father: * can you think 
otherwise?' — * To be sure, says Mr. Twist, * and it 
is but fair, that as we came into this world with- 
out our own consent, we should not be compelled 
to stay in it if we don't like its'—* that's very 
good indeed,' says my fatherj * so I suppose you 
think when a culprit is put upon his trial, because 
he is brought to the bar against his own consent, 
he may quit the court at his own discretion, and 
not wait for the sentence of removal.' 

* ril tell you what,' says Mr. Twist, * I am no 
parliament man, (I was going to say no Parson, 
but [ would not for the world be rude to Mr. 
Hargrave here) but I say I am no parliament man, 
or speechijiery and therefore I cannot undertake 
to argue the point with you: but I have at home, a 
Poem written I do suppose by one of the cleverest 
chaps in Christendom, where the business is proved 
to a nicety: it begins, * diverse from Life, nor well 
resolved to die.'— 1 wish I could repeat it, but I'll 
give it to my friend Bob here, to-morrow, and he 
shall read it to you;-— if you can answer thaty then 
I will be ready to confess that poor Tom Dash 
had better have staid where he was.' 'You had 
better^' says my father, * give it to Bob, for if you 
gwe it to me, fifty to one but ^ put it ia the fko;^^ 



108 

* I would not part with it for the world,' says Mr. 
Twist,* so don't play tricks with it, I only say, an- 
swer it.' 

My father bej^ged he would send it; — < it will 
surely be pleasant,' says he, • to any of us, nay, an 
extreme happiness, to learn that we may shoot 
ourselves whenever we please; only till I see the 
Poem, be assured. Twist, that I won't believe we 
possess any such power or privilege: — no, not if 
ten thousand Tom Dashes were to shoot them- 
selves before my face.' Just at this moment, a 
summons to tea arrived, and we arose to go to the 
drawing-room. 

My father, I really believe, felt glad to have in- 
veigled Mr. Twist, as it were, into an argument 
of this sort, hoping in time to be able to open his 
eyes a little to the extreme folly, worthlessness, 
and absurdity of the life led by himself, and too 
many of his acquaintance. 

After tea, we had l>e/ia, which made, I suppose, 
its usual impressions upon us both; — that is, it 
made Miss Twist think of me, and me of Emily 
Mandeville; I confess, I could not help thinking; 
more than ever of the latter Thinks-I-to-myself, 
surely, nothing can render it very decorous in me 
to ennoble the daughter of a stable-keeper, a groom, 
a huntsman, the friend o^ murderers and suicides! 

The next day the Poem came, directed to the 
leader's most humble servant, that is, to me, the 
clod-pole, and fitly enough; for. Thinks I-to-my- 
selft Mr. Twist surely fancies I shall never con- 
sent to marry his daughter, unless I have free 
leave from God and man, to quit the world at any 
time afterwards that I please! Upon running my 
eye over the poem, I began to think it might be { 



109 

quite safe in Mr. Twist's hands, for it seemed to 
me much above both the extent of his comprehen- 
sion, and the measure ot his taste; the lines were 
nervous, strong, and apparently from the hand of 
a master; I carried them to my father, he read 
them very attentively:^ — * Have you read them?' 
says he; * I have. Sir,' says I: — ' Do you like them?' 
says my father. * I think the lines are certainly 
strong, and the poetry good:'^ — • but the argument^^ 
says my father — * I should wish. Sir, to consider 
^ it more,' says I; — * Do my boy,' says my father, 
* and mind put down upon any scrap of paper^ 
your objections as you go along, if any occur.' 

I took the poem from him, and, as was general- 
ly the case, when 1 wanted to consider things 
with particular attention, I walked into the park 
with the poem in my pocket; — while there, I pe- 
rused it again carefully: noted my objections with, 
a pencil, as my father had desired, and was going 
to return, when, Thinks- I-to -myself, why not an- 
swer it in verse? — 1 retired into a more secluded 
part of the park, and taking stanza by stanza, 
went through the whole, till 1 had written a regu- 
lar reply. 

I carried it in haste to my father, and he ran 
with it eagerly to Mr. Hargrave; as they both ap- 
proved of it, 1 wrote it out fair, and as they seem- 
ed to think it a proper reply to a mischievous 
poem, which, for what I know, may still be travel- 
ling about the world alone, as was the case when 
it came into my hands, I shall here present the 
reader with the companion I ventured to provide 
for it, sincferely hoping that no Tom Dash will 
henceforward shoot himself, till he has carefully 
read both: — as for the iwetry ef the latter, I care 

K 



110 

not a fig about it: I can onl^y assert, which I do 
most positively, that the argument it contains will 
forever prevent my To7n Bashing my own brains 
out, yea, though I should happen to be wedded to 
such another as Miss Twist. 

THE SUICIDE. 

Averse from Life, nor v/el! resolv'd to di'e, 
Us'd but to murmur, I retain my breath; 

Yet pant, enlarg'd from this dull world, to try 
The hospitable, though cold arms of Deatli. 

What future joys should bid me wish to live? 

What flatt'ring" dreams of better days remainf 
What prospect can obscure existence g'ive, 

A recompense for penury and pain? 

Is there an hope that o'er this unton'd frame, 
Awaken'd Health her wonted glow shall spread> 

Is there a path to pleasm-e, wealth, or fame. 

Which sickness, languor, and remorse, can tread? 

Why therefore should I doubt, what should I feai'? 

Why for a moment longer bekr my grief? 
Behold! — my great Deliverer is near, — 

Immediate as I wish his prompt relief! 

Oh! instance strange, of free, but blinded wil,!^ 
Discuss'd so much, so little understood! 

To bear the certainty of present ill. 

Before the certain chance of ill or good! 

But what that chance? — Why be it what it may, 
Still 'tis a chance- — and here my woes are sure; 

— ' Yet think these woes are sorrows of a day, 
While those to all eternity endure!' 

Think of the horrors of eternal pain! 

'Imagination startles at the name; 
Nor can impress upon the labouring brain. 

Duration endless still, and still the same.'--- 

Well hast thou said; — nor can it be impress'd; 
Has bfrnd credulity, that abject slave, 



Ill 

Who thinks his notliuigness, forever blcss'd. 
Shall hold eternal triumph o'er the grave? 

When oceans cease to roll, rocks melt away. 
Atlas and ^tna sink into the plairu 

The g-lorious Sun, the elements decay, 
ShaJ] Man, Creation's flim^est work, remain? 

What shall remain of Man? His outward frame? 

Soon shall that moulder to its native dust! 
Or haply that unbodied subtle flame, 

Which occupies and anmiatesthe bust; 

Let but a fing-er ache, the kindred soul. 

Its intimate alliance shall perceive; 
Let ultimate destruction grasp the whole. 

The soul immortal and unchang'd shall live! 

Stop but one conduit, and the tone is lost, 
But, burst each pipe, and tear up every key;- 

Then shall the decompounded Org-an's ghost. 
Swell the loud peal of endless harmony! 

So shall that quality whose pow'rs arise 
From various pails by nicest art arraDg-^d, 

With every shock they suffer, sympathise. 
Yet after their destruction, live unchang-'d! 

So much for argument, the legends vain 

Of Priestly craft, reach not th* ingenuous mind; 

Let knaves invent, and folly wil^ maintain. 
The wildest system that dekiaes mankind. 

Did there exist the very Hell they paint. 
Were there the very Heav'n they desire; 

'Twere hard to choose,, a Devil or a Saint, 
Eternal SingvSong, or Eternal Fire? 

Ye idle hopes of future joys, farewell! 

Farewell, ye groundless fears of future wo! 
Lo! the sole argument on which to dwell. 

Shall I, or shall I not, this life forego? 

f know the storm that waits my destin'd head. 
The trifling joys I yet may hope to reap; 

The momentary pang 1 have to dread, 

The state of mKfeturb'd undreaming sleep! 



Then all is known,- — and all is known too welj, 
Or to distract, or to delay my choice: — 

No hopes solicit, as no fears rebel. 

Against mine ultimate determined voice. 

Had I suspicions that a future state 
Mig-ht yet exist, as haply I have none; 

'Twere worth the cost to venture on my fate^ 
Impell'd by curiosity alone. — 

Sated with life, and amply gratify'd 
In every varied pleasure life can g"ive. 

One sole enjoyment yet remains untry'd. 
One only novelty,, — to cease to iJve. 

JsTot yet reduc'd a scornful alms to crave, 
Nor yet of those with whom I live, the sport" 

^o great man's pander, parasite, or slave, 
O Death! 1 seek thy hospitable port! 

Thou like a virgin in her bridal sheet, 
Seemest prepared ccnsenti]\g kind to lie; 

The happy bridegToom, I, with hasty feet. 
Fly to thy arms m rapt'rous ecstasy! 

' ANSWER. 

Kfiver more modulate with your sweet aid. 
Ye gentle Muses! such unhallowed strains! 

^ Resolv'd to die;' — shall this by Man be said? 
Thankless for pleasure, shall he bear no pains? 

To him who from the cold tomb hopes to rise. 
Death's icy arms full ' hospitable' ai'e; 

But who, averse from this world, murm'ring flieS; 
Thy sting, O Grave! mistaking ly may dare! 

Why dost thou ask, if fiatt'ring hopes remain? 

If to thy ' unton'd frame* health may return? 
Sure to new scenes of pleasure or of pain, 

Some hand may burst the cerements of thy urn. 

The varying seasons expectation give: 

Go to the clos'd-up buds in winter's gloom; 

Ask by what recreating pow'r they live. 
In gay spring-tide who renovates their bloom! 



113 

This is experience: — b\it tlie grave's unknown! 

From pain, from sickness, and from per^iry. 
From earthly tribulations, when thou'rt tlown. 

How dost thou know Death will deliver thee? 

It is no instance of a blinded will 

To shun a chance so little understood: 

Better to bear the weight of present ill. 
Than risk the certain loss of future g"ood. 

"What is thy chance then? — Here thy lot is sure: 
* The days of Man are three-score years and tew,* 

And seldom more; — how long- they may endurej 
The wisest knows not, if we live ag-ain. 

"Why does Eternity so startle you? 

Say, is it easier to comprehend. 
What pow'r this mig-hty system can undo, 

And every thing* annihilate and end? 

Exert thy reason, surely that's no slave; 

Why should'st thou trust to what thou can'st not know? 
Thy tJu/ughis destroy us, reason tries to save. 

And, unpresuming", says, it may be so. 

Should * Oceans cease to roll, Rocks melt away, 

' Atlas and ^tna sink into the plain, 
* The g-lorious Sun, the elements decay,' 

Man, the Creator's imag-e, may remain! 

All may remain of Man! His outward frame 
May for the present moulder and decay; 

But yet not lost, if God remain the same; 
He hath call'd unfonri'd being-s into day! 

JLet but a finger ache, the kindred soul 

Its intimate alliance may perceive; 
Yet cut off limbs, the mind continues whole^ 

Uninjur'd, unimpair'd, it yet may live! 

Stop but one conduit, and the tone is lost; 

And, burst each pipe, and tear up every key; 
Still for some new form'd frame, the * Organ's Ghost' 

May yet exist! unalter'd Harmony! 

So may *that quality,' M^hose pow'rs arise 

Not from man's feeble and. decaying frame, 
K £ 



114 

Witk everj'- shock it suffers, sympathise, 
Yet after its destruction, live the same. 

May this be argument; — th* ing-enuous mind 
Builds not on priestly craft, or leg-ends vain; 

Sure the sad system that destroys mankind. 
Knaves have invented, folly does maintain! 

Js there the Hell that Holy Writ declares, 
The Heav'n we hope for, is it really such? 

The wretch that shrinks from this world and its cares. 
In' such a choice, would hesitate not much. 

^ Shall I, or shall T not, this life foreg-o?' — 
This is the arg-ument on which youM dwell; 

Yet sure 'tis weak, unknowing wiiere you go, 
To bid the chances of this world farewell. 

The will of Heaven's conceal'd from human eye! 

How dare you say, you * know the storm to come?"'' 
The parting pang may pe but momentary. 

But may there be no dreaming in tlie tomb? 

AH is not known; — yet sure enough is seen, 
Much to delay and counteract thy choice; 

Hope should solicit, fears should intei-vene 
Against thy rash and ill-determined voice. 

Thy curiosity will soon be o'er; 

Why should'st thou go in danger all alone? 
Can'st thou not tarry one short moment more, 

The term of this Life's limited and known? 

Sated with Life, and all its varying joys. 

Try no new scene, you cannot judge of well; 

God in his own good time will raise his voice. 
If you believe not Heav'n, yet risk not Hell/ 

* No great man's pander, parasite, or slave. 

Nor yet of those with whom you live, the sport: 

Nor yet reduc'd a scornful alms to crave,' 
Why like a fugitive to death resort? 

Death's arms are hospitable but to those 

Who have fulfiU'd on earth Heav'n's high decrees; 

The Good in the cold gi'ave may find repose, 
And wake at last to heavenly ecstasies. 



115 

iMy father would have the answer sent to Ni- 
cotium Castle, and he got Mr. Har^rave to carry 
it; — what Mr. Twist said to it, Mr Hargrave 
would never exactly tell us, but he assured us, 
that before he left him, Mr. Twist expressed a 
wish that poor Tom Dash had read it; — he after- 
wards acknowledged to my father, that he would 
look sharp himself before he ever took such a leap; 
so that altogether, I believe, it did good; — but as 
for arguing the matter much, he was certainly not 
very capable of it, either in prose or verse. 

END OF VOLUME J. 



THZSTKS I TO TOYSISUP, 

VOL. IT. 

Not long after the visit described in the former 
volume, and the writing of the poem, I strolled 
down to the Vicarage, thinking in my own mind, 
that I would soon muster up courage to disclose 
to Emily the situation of my heart. While I was 
there, my mother and sister called, and quite un- 
expectedly to me, proposed taking Emily home 
in the carriage to pass three or four days at the 
Hall: — bump, bump, bump, bump, went my poor,^^-.^ 
heart directly:—the invitation was accepted, and ^^B 
she actually returned with them. I went on to , 
Mrs. Fidgets, with a message from my mother, re^ ' 



116 

joicing all the way, of course, at the thoughts q|'1 
finding Emily at the Hall on my return. 

Now I suppose, .that any body who never had 
my complaint-, would naturally conclude, that all 
the time Emily staid at Grumblethorpe, I was 
particularly lively and gay; exerted all my talents 
to amuse her, and engage her attention; — nothing 
of the kind! I was ten times more shy oHier than 
of Miss Twist; if 1 spoke to her upon the most 
common occasion, it vvas always under some em- 
barrassment, and if I attempted at any time to be 
witty and facetious, nothing; could possibly exceed 
the nonsense that came out of my mouth, so that 
at last I began seriously to think of laying aside 
that organ of speech, and of talking to her mere- 
ly with my eyes: — with the latter, l felt far more 
capable of discoursing with her, and had no rea- 
son to think such ocular language was very unin- 
telligible to her; had she had but confidence and 
assurance enough to answer me, (which, however, 
I liked her only the better for not having) I make 
no doubt but that the exact state of both our hearts 
might have been made known to each other with- 
out the utterance of letter, syllable, word, or sen- 
tence. 

One evening, during her stay, the Twists came. 
I believe they wondered to see the companion my 
sister had chosen. Nothing could exceed the as- 
surance with which Miss Twist appeared to make 
me her own; had she had a spark of real love for 
me, she would have been more diffident, as I knew 
by my own feelings. While we were amusing 
ourselves altogether with charades, riddles, thread- 
paper verses- and other such wonderful eft'»rts of 
genius, she slipped a paper into my hands, whicli 



iir 

«he said was a conundrum; when I opened it I 
found it to be,— 

* If you love Twe, as /love you, 
Need these twain be long-er twoP* 

^hich I apprehend she had learnt of her house- 
maid; I pretended to laugh at it, but am ashansed 
to say, was, at the same time, inwardly provoked 
to think to myself the following short reply: — 

* If you love me, as I love you, 

I know the reason why we're two.* 

But indeed I verily believe that the twain were 
upon pretty equal terms, and that she did really 
love me about as well as J loved her; how many 
twain under such circumstances become one in the 
course of every year, I pretend not even to guess, 
but perhaps, now and then, riches and coronets do 
meet together under no better circumstances; 
perhaps so7Jie-times under worse; I know nothing 
about it. 

I began, however* to be very confident that 
some edaircissement must take place very soon, 
but as I studiously avoided giving her any encour- 
ageuient, 1 was in hopes some of the elders of the 
party would think fit to begin the inquiry 1 wish- 
ed to be made into the state of my sentiments. 
jBmi7z/ staid with us four days; — during which 
time, though I had not suffered a vow or a promise, 
or even an inquiry to pass my lips, I yet felt sat- 
isfied that 1 had made many communications of 
this nature with my eyes; 1 was still, however, 
under considerable alarm about the state of her 
heart: she had a cousin who often visited at the 
Vicarage, just about her own age, whose eyes I 
could have j.oked out at any time, and given them 
to the birds, 1 felt so afraid of them; for he looked 



118 

at her as well as me, and while she was with u^ji 
she was working him a purse. The first time I J 
discovered who this purse was for, I passed the 
whole night without once closing mj eyes, in such 
an agony of distress, and despair, and torment, 
that it is a great wonder I was not quite a corpse 
before the morning. 

I have often heard this, and that, and t'other 
pain nientioned as the ivorst that mortals can en- 
dure; — such as the tooth-ache, ear-ache, head- 
ache, a cramp in the calf of the Ifg, a boil or a 
hlifiter; now, I protest, though I have tried all 
these, nothing seems to nie at all to come up to a 
pretty sharp Jit of jealous^j. Give me the man 
that will lay quite quiet all night in his bed, and 
sleep composedly, after he has had reason to su§- 
pect, that some other man is of far more account 
than himself in the eyes of his mistres-; for mine 
own part, the torture of such a state of mind al- 
ways appeared to me so transcendently terrible, 
that even now, I had rather .have the tooth-ache^ 
ear-ache, and cramp all at once, with a blister on 
my back into the bargain, than undergo what I felt 
the night of which I speak; I mean when T found 
that the purse Emily was netting, (and which I 
had been every evening admiring) was promised 
to her cousin: I have heard since that he is really 
a very good sort of young man, and yet that 
night [ could not get it out of my head that he 
was a devil! ~si downright deviU — a fend! I sup- 
pose this was all very natural, but it serves to show 
what blu'iders nature may make when she goes to 
work without reason. — Thinks-I to myself most 
certainly, * la raison n^est pas ce qui regie Va^ 
mour,^ 

What will the reader think was the »tate of my 



H9 

mind, wlien a little while afterwards, my sister, 
having called at the Vicarage, brought me back a 
purse exactly of the same pattern! ' There,' 
says she, 'Robert, you are in luck; you admired 
the purse so much that Miss Mandeville was 
netting while she was with us, that she has been 
at the trouble of working another for you exactly 
like it, of which she begs your acceptance: it is not 
quite the same, I see,^ says she, * for I observe, 
she has honoured you with gold tassels instead of 
silk ones.' I leave you to guess gentle sentimental 
reader, whether the purse would have at all risen 
in value, had it been filled brim full with all Miss 
Twist's hundreds of thousands of pounds. 

Two or three mornings after this dear and pre- 
cious present was made to me, — (I cannot help 
stopping now to think how often I kissed it,) while 
we ^ere at breakfast, the post came in, and my 
father opened one of the letters,^—* the deuce take 
it,' says he, • it's come at last !* Thinks- I-to my - 
se//, whatV^ come? — but my mother said it out 
aloud—* WhaVs come at last, Mr. Dermont?' 
* Aye,' says* my father, * poor Jfr. Dermont! you 
must take leave of Aim, I am afraid forever!' — - 
*Good God,' says my mother, * what do you 
mean?' and was near fainting: my father, God 
help him, had not the smallest intention of exci- 
ting such alarm ; when he saw my mother turn so 
pale, he was frightened out of his wits; — * Lord,' 
says he, *how could I be such an ideot: it's no- 
thing but that nasty Scotch Barony that is come, 
tor old Lady Tay -and- Tumble is dead, and I am. 
Lord Kilgarnock!' 

Never did a peerage, I believe, Scotch, English, 
or Irish, meet with a more unwelcome reception; 
tor we were all too much occupied with the reco-» 



very of my mother to take any further notice oj 
it, so that by the time Mr. Hargrave joined the^ 
breakfast |)arty, the Baroness Kllgarnock seemed 
to have quite forgotten it, for as soon as he enter- 
ed, — * Do,' says she, * Mr, Dermont, make Mr J 
Hargrave understand that we are not all crazy, 
for 1 am sure he must think so: as my mother got 
better, we of course returned to our seats, and 
then Mr. Hargrave was duly made acquainted 
with all that had passed. ^ 

It was settled, however, that not a word at pre- 
sent should be said about it; * for God's sake,' 
says my father, ' let me take breath a little before 
it is made known, for I fear I shall soon be sur- 
feited with ' my Lord,^ and ^your Lordship J'-^ 
It could not, however, be kept secret long, for in 
two hours after, an express arrived, requiring my 
father's presence in Scotland, if possible, or if not 
possible, at least in London, to sign some papers^ 
of consequence. — The news therefore transpired,] 
and Mr» Dermdnt became my Lord; and for my 
own. part, let the title come as it wouJIl, I, of all 
people in the world had reason to be glad; for no- 
thing could be more puzzling than my own appel- 
lation before my father became a lord, for being 
not far advanced beyond my boyhood, some of 
the servants would still continue to call me Mas- 
ter Bohby; some advancing a little further, would 
call me Mister Bobby; some, Mr. Robert, and 
some, Mr. Robert Der'mont. But now the point 
was happily settled: — the Honourable Bob or 
Bobby would never do; the Honourable Robert 
was quite right in matters of form, but for collo- 
quial purposes and cases of personal address, 
Mr. Dermont became my exclusive property. 

It was curious to see how many notes we re- 



121 

ceived in the compass of a few days, directed to 
the Right Honourable Lady Kilgarnock.-Voor 
IVIiss Twist made a blunder that was very natu- 
ral, but aln)ost laughable from its coming so soon; 
for on the very evening of the day the news came, 
my sister received a note from her, directed to 
the Honourable Miss Kilo-arnock; she fancied, 
poor thing, that we were Kilgarnocked from one 
end of the family to the other, and that Bermont 
was become quite a plebeian name — a mere cast 
away. 

The first person I saw after the safe arrival of 
the title, was Mr, Mandeville. If the reader 
thinks he made a lower bow to the Honourable 
Mr, Bub than usual, he will be much mistaken, 
for he came, (in the contrary, expressly to chide 
and rebuke me, almost to insult me: Emily hav- 
ing made me a present of a purse, I naturally, but 
perhaps still without reasow, (who ought always 
to be at hand to check her wayward sister) had 
wished to make her some present in return, and 
because I was far from London and every other 
place where a sumptuous present might be pur- 
chased, I had begged my sister to let me have 
back a locket I had given her with my hair in it, 
very prettily ornamented with pearls. — ^This pre- 
sent Mr. Mandeville in much form brought back 
to me; mj heart bumped as much as ever, though 
I had become the Honourable; he gave it back into 
mj hand, and begged I would on no account give 
her such a present: — ' If you have some paltry- 
thing,' says he, ' about the worth of her purse to 
send back, I'll freely take it, as a present from 
one play-feilow to another, but as for your lockets 
and hair, I must not admit such things.' ' My 



1^2 

dear Mr. Mandeville,' says I, 'you shall have 
what you please, only let me beg, that if I give it 
to you, you will not vainly fancy that you have the 
worth of the purse; — how much I value it, I nei- 
ther dare tell you nor any body else:' — he shook 
me by the hand, and wished me good bye, taking 
with him a mere fancy seal that I had brought 
from Scotland. 

Any body will suppose that we were now sel- 
dom without company; but the title, I plainly 
saw, had redoubled all the attacks of the Twist 
family, so that at last, I fairly felt it necessary to 
speak to Mr. Hargrave about it.— As we were ri- 
ding together one day, — * I see,' says I, • my dear 
Sir, some things daily happen, that I am afraid 
will some time or other occasion misunderstand- 
ings, if not disappointments: — I see that both at 
home and at Nicotium Castle, expectations are 
entertained that I shall one time or another marry 
Miss Twist; — my good father I think, has partly set 
his heart upon it, but the Twists, I am sure, make 
certain of it;— it is fit, therefore, I think, that I 
should openly and explicitly explain to somebody, 
that that match never can take place! Nothing, I 
think, can ever possibly persuade me to marry a 
woman so erroneously and so foolishly educated: — 
of her person 1 say nothing. — tf I could love her, I 
should not care about the frame her soul happened 
to be set in,— but I cannot.— Her father is to' me 
little less than an object of sovereign contempt, 
except that I pity him, and therefore would go 
far to do him any good. — Her mother is a vain, 
weak, fantastical woman, and after this, what 
can we expect the daughter to be, except indeed, 
I must observe, that it might be otherwise if 
Miss Watson had full sway:— then she might 



1^ 

be something; but with a father and mothex 
so deplorably Ignorant, an angel of a governess 
could do nothing. — I leave it to you, my dear Sir, 
to make this known to my father, and that I 
may be as ingenuous as possible, 1 wish to add 
at once, that my heart is otherwise engaged, and I 
think indelibly so.* 

Here I stopped;~and Mr. Hargrave stopped 
also, — his horse I mean, for as yet he had said no- 
thing; — however, after a little recollection, he 
rode on; — • I have listened,' says he * attentively 
to all you have said. — Young men and old men 
see things so differently, that I cannot pretend 
even to guess what your father will say to this: 
— I know that he has, as you observe, partly set 
his mind on your marrying Miss Twist, and every- 
body else, I can safely say, expects it. Fo2* think 
otherwise, but it is foolish to fancy, that thought 
you are heir to a title, three hundred thousand 
pounds are ignominiously to be rejected. — I know 
perfectly well that they are at your command.-— 
One word from yourself might forever ttw tie these 
two noble and contiguous estates. — 1 am afraid you 
are weak, though I confess you appear strong — . 
Your mouth speaks wisely, but I fear your heart 
judges foolishly.' — * My dear Sir,' says I, *say 
not this, till you know more.' — * I wish to know 
more,' says he, *I wish to know all — I should 
wish to know (but there I am sure I shall be dis- 
appointed) I should wish to know, how and where 
your heart is engaged;' — *Sir,' says I, *you shall 
not be disappointed; — I will tell you fairly and 
openly; — Miss Mandeville is the person who I 
wish to make my wife, if she will have me:' — *if 
she will have yoUt says Mr. Hargrave! ' I sup- 



124 

pose you pretty well know whether she will have 
jou or notr>— -*Sir;' says i, 'I donot: — I know no 
more of Miss Mandeville's private sentiments 
than yourself, but I will marry her if IcanC — 
'You speak boldly, young Gentleman,' said Mr. 
Hargrave, and I must confess he appeared angry, 
which { was sorry for. 

From this tisne we said little: — he seemed to be 
absorbed in thought; — for my own part, I felt re- 
lieved. We returned to the Hail: and every 
thing seemed, for several days, to proceed as 
usual.- — My father had been obliged to go to Lon- 
don, and of course, nothing could be done till hi» 
return. — I kept a good deal to myself. Mr. Har- 
grave often came to me, but always seemed to 
behave with much reserve; he even ventured, one 
day, to speak slightly of the Mandevilles, so as al- 
most to excite my indignation. 

At length, my father returned from London, 
and I knew that in a few days every thing would 
be disclosed: — one, tv/o, three, and four days 
passed, before I observed the smallest alteration: 
— on the fifth day, I must confess, I perceived a 
difference:— my father, at dinner, instead of say- 
ing, — * What do you eat, mij dear BobP said, 
'Robert, what do you eat?' — and sometimes, 
(though I think he was absent,) called me Sir. 
On the sixth day, however, the dreadful business 
came out; — Mr. and Mrs. Twist called at the 
Hall; my father sent for me, and I excused my- 
self: — as soon as they were gone, he came up to my 
room: I saw plainly he was agitated: ' I suppose, 
Sir,'' says he, 'you think it a trifling thing to 
make fools of your parents;' — *by no means. Sir,' 
says I *so far from it, that I can solemnly declare, 
nothing would go nearer to break my heart, than 



125 

to be compelled to do any thing that would really 
distress either my father or my mother.' My fa- 
ther looked rather surprised and overcome, and I 
really pitied him: — 'You know,' says he, 'Rob' 
ert, how much we have been led to think, and to 
hope, and expect, that an union would, one time 
or other, take place between the Twist faaiily and 
ours; our estates are contiguous: the joint prO' 
per fy would be enormous, and no expense has 
been spared upon Miss Twist's education:' * Sir,' 
says I, ' i grant it all; but I do not like Miss Twist, 
and my heart is otherwise engaged:' * otherwise 
engagedP says my father, * that is the worst of it: 
I might reasonably have indulged you in a choice 
about Miss Twist, but to have gone and engaged 
yourself, without consulting me, to a person quite 
beneath you is such an act of disrespect and dis- 
regard that I cannot overlook it;' * Sir,* says I, 
* somebody must surely have told you that I have 
engaged myself to somebody quite beneath me^ else 
you would not have said it:' * somebody has told 
me so, undoubtedly,' says my father, * and I do 
not scruple to say who, because he did not enjoin 
me to any secrecy; — Mr. Hargrave it was who 
told me, that you not only rejected Miss 
Twist, but that you had engaged your heart at 
least, if not your hand, to a person quite beneath 
you:* * Sir,' says I, 'I wonder Mr. Hargrave 
should say so, but tt is difficult to know friends 
from foes;' ' Mr. Hargrave,' says my father, * can- 
not reasonably be judged to be your foe, because 
he has told me the truth; they may be the best 
friends who do so at any hazard:' * Sir,' says I, 
*1 should not call Mr. Hargrave my foe, had he 
merely told you the truth, but when I hear that 
he has told you that I have fixed ray affections on 
h 2 



125 

a person quite beneath me^ I think he has not told 
;^ou the trutkj^ ' that may be Robert,' says my 
Father, * as you happen to think; a person may 
appear to Mr. Hargrave quite beneath you, whom 
you, in the extravagance of a foolish passion may 
judge to be your equal:' * I cannot dispute that, 
Sir,' says I, 'but still my feelings may be acute 
upon the sutjject, and I ought to be forgiven for 
fancying, at least, that the object of my choice is 
not quite beneath me, as you and Mr. Hargrave 
seem disposed to believe:' ' that she is really so,' 
says my father, *1 cannot but believe now, more 
than ever, because, were it not so, I think, before 
this, you would have been in2;enuous enough to 
have told me who it was.' 'Has not Mr. Har- 
grave, tnen, Sir,' says I, * already told you?' * By- 
no means,' says my father: * he has only informea 
me, (which I fear will go nigh to bring my gray 
hairs with sorrow to the grave,) thit it is some 
p'^rsou quite beneath you:' 'then, Sir,' says I, *if 
you are really so prepossessed, I almost feel as if 
I should scorn to name her:' — * you seem to speak, 
proudly, young man,' says my father: my heart, 
I must confess, was almost breaking all this time; 
never had my father, since the day of my birth, 
addressed me in such distant terms: * Sir,' says I, 
* not proudly but honestly; the woman I have cho- 
sen is not in my estimation quite beneath me; far, 
very far from it! and surely 1 should speak proud- 
ly indeed to call her so, if the contrary be the 
truth:' 'but why,' says my father, 'not boldly 
name her then at once?' ' Sir,' says I, * if you chal- 
lenge me to speak it boldly, your curiosity shall 
be satisfied; Miss Mandeville, Sir, is the person, 
and I now scorn to conceal it:^ my father ran to 
the window and threw it up; 'Miss Mandeville,'' 



127 

says he; *Miss Mandeville, Sir,' sajs I'—He 
walked up and down the room for some time, 
and at last, turning to me, * Robert,' says he, 
ij* these are unpleasant meetings between father 
f|i and son; and as neither your feelings nor mine 
ilseem to be under due command, we had better 
M converse upon this subject another time:' so say- 
i ing, he gave me his hand, which I most reverently 
' kissed, pressing it to my bosom: he quickly re- 
ii tired and left me absorbed in grief. 

1 remained alone in my room nearly an hour: at 
length somebody knocked at my door; I open- 
ed it, and who should be there but Mr. Hargrave! 
I confess, 1 shuddered at the sight of a man, who, 
I thought, had so crue'ly betrayed me: says he, 
*May I come in?' 'Certainly, Sir,' says 1: *l 
a.m afraid,' says he, * your father and you have 
had an unpleasant meeting:' * certainly. Sir,' says 
I, *not the more pleasant, from some cruel mis- 
repr'esent'tlons that I think have been made to 
liim:' •! suppose,' says Mr. Hargrave, *you 
mean that 1 did wrong in speaking of Miss Man- 
deville as a person quite beneath you;'—' I have 
Bo scruple. Sir,' says I, * to assert that you did 
do wrong, because I avow it to be a gross violation 
oif the truth. — Why is a person of such parentage, 
and education, and singular worth as Miss Mande- 
ville can boast, to be accounted beneath any man, 
merely because she has not large worldly endow- 
ments? I feel. Sir, that you have done me an un- 
kindness, but by her you have acted unjustly, and 
therefore dishonourably: my heart is full. Sir, and 
for fear 1 should speak more disrespectfully, I 
wish you would have the goodness to retire;' — 
but 1 could not get him to stir an inch: on the 
contrary, he seemed to look at me with a cast of 



countenance I by no means liked; there was a 
smile upon his face bordering upon ridicule; I 
could scarcely command my temper; when at 
last, to my utter surprise, he took me by the arm: 
*My youna; friend,' says he, * how can you be so 
blind?' I knew not what he meant: * Mine,' says 
he, * is a curious situation to stand in; I have dis- 
obliged, it appears, both father and son, by the 
same act, for your father has treated me much like 
yourself: he has equally accused me of deceiving 
him, and violating the truth by speaking so con- 
temptuously of Miss MandevilkV—mj heart 
seemed to revive a little, but I could not yet un- 
derstand him; ' Shall I disclose to you' says he, 
* the full scope of my intentions?' **Sir,' saj^s I, 
' for God's sake do, for my present suspense is 
beyond every thing painful.' 

* Then,' says he, * listen to me patiently:—-! 
have been long enough at Grumblethorpe to judge 
of the general aspect of things:—! have long seen 
that it was your father's wish that you should 
marry Miss Twist, in order to unite two estates 
lying so contiguous, and in order the better to sup- 
port a title which he fancies is come to him 
without any additional fortune. — I have seen also, 
of course, that the Twists have all wished it, and, 
in my estimation, done much to force and compel 
the match, without much regard to your private 
feelings: — it has been my endeavour, there fore> 
for some time, while I appeared to favour your 
father's wishes, (to which I owed every possible 
respect,^ to ascertain, if I could, the exact state 
of your own sentiments, and I at last, as you know, 
succeeded: — you explicitly told me all I could 
wish to be made acquainted with: — when I found 
your views and your father^s were so dilFerenti 



129 

I confess, it occasioneil me no small embarrass- 
ment and sorrow, — for I love and esteem you 
both, to a degree that I shall not attempt to de- 
scribe: — finding that your affections were really 
fixed on a person so truly amiable and respectable 
as Miss Mandeville, though without fortune or 
high connexions, I judged it would be best, to 
awaken your father's fears as much as possible; — 
even to run the risk of making him suffer real 
anguish and distress of mind, that when the ac- 
tual truth came to be known, instead of being a 
disappointment, it might, in fact, be a great re- 
lief, and I am truly happy to say, my plans seem 
to have succeeded; — for, though I still labour un- 
der the reproach of both, I am able to assure you, 
that after the dreadful suspicions and apprehen- 
sions your father had been led to entertain, the 
name of Miss Mandeville has appeared to him 
like the name of an angel; you, yourself, could not 
have more warmly resented than he has done, the 
slur cast upon her character: — 1 must now return 
to hiiRy and settle what I have thus put in train, 
and shall only stop to communicate one other cir- 
cumstance, which is this: tiiat while 1 was at 
Edinburgh, and particularly during our wintry 
visit to Aberdeen, 1 was able to ascertain, beyond 
all possibility of doubt, that an estate of more 
than 10,000/. per annum, descends to your father, 
with the title of Kilgarnock; it may cost a law- 
suit, if the parties are weak enough to contest it, 
but I am told they will not, if the papers I have 
examined and secured are known to be produci- 
ble:' saying this, he left me, when I threw myself 
tipon the bed, quite exhausted with the conflict I 
had had to go through; I found means to excuse 
my appearance at dmner, and heard no more of it 



130 

till Mr. Hargrave came up to me in the evening. 
As soon as he came in, he took me by the hand: 
— *Now,' says he, 'my dear boy, if you can suc- 
ceed with Miss Mandeville, every thing is settled 
here at home; — your worthy father seems only 
anxious to repair the injury he fancies he has 
done to Miss Mandevilie, by treating her, though 
only for a moment, and while he was even igno- 
Y-dut of whom he was speaking, as quite beneath 
the notice of any man alive; he has commissioned 
me to-morrow, early, to speak to her father about 
it; but I do not see, myself, why you should not 
first, in your own person, make known your at- 
tachment to her; you are both young, and there's 
no huiTy; if she should not happen to like you af- 
ter all, she had better be left free to tell you so; 
as you are quite able to marry her, the consulting 
her father first, would be running a risk, perhaps, 
of occasioning some other sort of bias;— and if she 
should happen not to like you. (which I think is 
improbable from what 1 have observed; but if it 
should be so,) her father may be spared a disap- 
pointment, by the business going no further; 
therefore, if jou have no objection, I will propose 
it to your family, that you shall be at liberty to 
make your own addresses, and, perhaps, we may 
have it in our power to produce another agreeable 
surprise^ when we communicate the matter here- 
after to Mr. Mandeville.' I quite assented to 
what he said,, continually expressing to him the 
sense I had of his most friendly interference. 

The next morning when 1 arose, every thing 
seemed to smile around me, my father, mother 
und sister received me at breakfast, as though / 
had been making' sacrifices to oblige tliem, rather 
tlian exacting any sacrifices on their part, to gniti- 



131 

fy my own wishes: after breakfast, my father took 
me aside for a few minutes — 'Bob,' says he, 'I 
hope we never shall have such another dispute a* 
we had yesterday; — it is not my intention to re- 
new it; but to satisfy my own feelings, I beg to 
say, that sooner than have wilfully spoken witli 
any contempt of Miss Mandeville, 1 would freely 
have renounced the gift of speech forever. Whe- 
ther you marry her or not, I must explicitly de- 
clare, that I most solemnly beg her pardon.' My 
heart was too full to answer: — he told me he be- 
lieved it would be necessary for him to go into 
Scotland with Mr. Hargrave, to see after some pro- 
perty which he was convinced ought to come to 
him, with the title he had inherited, and which, 
might, probably, be recovered: — *! hope,' says 
he, ^it wilKdo you no harm to be a little richer 
hereafter, if 1 thought it would, I would stay 
where I am, for * there is,^ as the wise king of Ju- 
dah saith, *a sore evil which I have seen under 
the sMw,' (and who indeed has not?) *namely, rich- 
es kept for the oivners thereof to their hurt»^ We 
returned to the breakfast room. 

My poor mother would, by this time, I believe, 
have freely resigned all the Kilgarnock honours 
and'e^tates, she was so thoroughly disturbed at 
the thoughts of my father's going into Scotland, 
and without her: she wished all the old deeds and 
papers that Mr. Hargrave had poked out of their 
lurking places, during his abode in Scotland, at 
the bottom of the sea, or at best, like the poor com- 
piutensiak manuscripts, (which ue\ev will be found 
again to' settle ani/ disputes,) sold to a Rocket^ 
maker; she threw out many hints, that to go such 
a long journey upon the meie chance of recover- 
ing a disputed inheritance, when, perhaps, the 



132 

very fatigues of the journey might prevent one's 
living to enjoy it, was, at best, a very foolish spe- 
culation: — in short, I verily think, that in her own 
heart, she would most willingly have relin^quish- 
ecl, not only what had already come to us, but 
every acre of t\\eTay-and-Tu7nbieproipertj,Siye — 
and tlie earldom itself into the bargain, if it could 
have been had, sooner than that my father should 
have slept one night from home; but such a long 
journey without her, was beyond every thing 
dreadful to her feelings: * *nns,' she would say, 
are so different from one's own houses, andj 
chamber-maids are so careless, and there is such a I 
hazard of damp beds, and you may have bad weaA 
ther, and the JS*orth is so much keener than the 
South, and it is such a horrible way off, and if 
you should be ill who is there to nurse you, and 
how will you get back, and there's no medical 
man that you have any confidence in, and you 
may be detained longer than you expect, and have 
great vexation, and not succeed after all, and so 
lose all your labour^ besides the expense and 
trouble of your jowniez^, and there is such robbing 
on the road, and those footpad felloivs ha.\e got so 
desperate and cruelP and thus would she run on, 
enumerating such an endless catalogue of dreadful 
contingencies, that, for my own part, I almost won- 
dered that ray father had the courage even to think 
of going: I never, I must confess, in the course 
of mv whole life, saw my mother so nearly in 
what" the world calls a complete fret; but. Thinks-^ 
I-to-myseif, ' Honore mutant Mores,' that is, 
(ladies,) as one of the Mores archly replied to 
one of the Rutland family, who had slandered him 
by an application of the Latin to his particular 
eley&tion,—--' Honours change Manners-'^ Till 



133 

V 

roy poor mother became a Peeress, she was th^ 
sweetest tempered woman in the world, but this 
going to look after the Tay-and-Tumble property 
soured her sadly, at least for the time: 

I have no manner of doubt now, but that the very 
calmest and most dispassionate of my readers, is all 
impatience to know how I made love to JEmi/z/ after 
the unqualified permission 1 had received from 
my Lord and Lady KUgarnock, so to do: but, re- 
ally and truly, making love is such a ridiculous 
business, especially where one is actually in earn" 
est, that after writing it all out at length, fact af- 
ter fact, just as it happened, taking up near forty 
or fifty pages, I have determined to strike it all out 
again, and not let you know a word about it; be- 
sides, it was all managed so out of the common 
course of things, that I don't like any body else 
should learn my way of conducting those matters; 
for, if a Clodpole could succeed so well with it, 
what would the artful and designing make of it? 
I think I have done very handsomely to let you 
know so much about my bumpingSy while the mat- 
ter hung in suspense; I do not believe one lover 
out of a hundred would so plainly have confessed 
to you, what odd feelings love produces. — [ have 
no objection to tell you, how it was all discove- 
red to Mr. and Mrs. MandeviJle, but first I must 
advert to other things. 

Mrs. and Miss Twist were forever calling, you 
may be sure, after the arrival of the title, not to 
ask where it came from, so much as to take care 
where it should ^-o to, and I think it would have 
done any body's heart good to have heard how 
Mrs. Twist did beladyship my poor mother: the 
Honourable J?o&had now received full permission 

M ^ 



134 

to be as little in this particular company, as hisj 
Bobship, in his discretion, should choose, so that; 
as far as the common rules of civility would ad-: 
mit, I generally got out of their way: I had, to the" 
best of my abilities, so invariably slighted, rather 
iha,n encouraged, the advances of both mother and 
daughter, that I felt no hesitation about the con- 
duct I was pursuing; sundry engagements were 
proposed, but all in vain: my mother indeed had a 
fair excuse for declining them, while my father's 
journey to Scotland was in agitation. 

In the mean time my visits to the Vicarage 
were frequent; how frequent I won't tell you, for 
if I should, you will find out how long I was in 
gaining Emily's heart, which is a thing I don't 
want any body to know: for if it should seem to 
have been a very long job, you will think J was 
dull and stupid, and if it should turn out to have 
been a very short job, people that don't know my 
dear Emily, may fancy she was too willing and for- 
ward; however, I believe I promised to tell you 
how the whole business was made known to Mr. 
and Mrs. Mandeville, and so now you shall have 
it. 

One ttay in the month of February {not far from, 
the fourteenth) Mr. Hargrave and myself called at 
the Vicarage, and found upon the table a heap of 
painted valentines which had been given to the 
young folks to send to their cousins, &c.— They 
were covered, as you may well suppose, with 
hearts And darts and cupids, and true-lover^s knots, 
and, spite of one's teeth, brought love into one's 
mind; Mr. Har<>;rave had much to say upon the 
subject, and filled up many of the papers for them 
with abundance of ludicrous verses, all in the true 
cant style ot those elega nt compositions, such as 



135 

* Haste my Love, and come away, 
' This is Hymen's holiday.' 

• 'Tis yours this present to improve. 

It's worth depends on you, 
A trifle if you do not love, 
A treasure if you do.' 

Which, by the bye, is almost pretty enough ta 
send to any body, though it has been so hacked 
about — but this don't signify; I had got nothing 
but Valentines and love in my head when 1 came 
away from the house, but as I never had a spark 
of fun in me, I could do nothing but write very 
gravely upon it. On the morning of the four- 
teenth, I found means, (mind, 1 don't tell you 
how, but I found means, I say) to have the follow- 
ing lines laid upon Emily's pillowr H any body 
should say, close to her damask cheek, I can't 
help it: as I had a pretty knack at drawing, I or- 
namented ifwith a rich wreath of roses, entwined 
with certain other flowers, famed for their close 
connection with such eiiploits, such as love and 
idleness, hearVs ease, ladder to heaven^ lor'ds and 
ladies, love in a mist, none so pretty, true love of Ca- 
nada, and bachelor'^s buttons; — 1 would have every 
body begin to cry, the lines are so truly pathetic: If 
they dont't serve to convince you that I was sin- 
cerely and deeply in love, you have no feeling at 
all: you are a bloch of marble, and have no busi- 
ness to read them. 

I dare say, you'll think they'll never come;—* 
well, here they are then: — 

What is a Valentine? — Amelia? — say:" 
Is it a lover of a single day? 



136 

Is it sitrifler who vnth flame and dart. 

Of painted papery seeks to win your heart? 

Is it the favourite of a morning glance. 

Met with by accident, and seen by chance? 

If so, / am not one to serve your turn, 

With no false flames or ardour do /burn! 

In no fictitious sorrows do /deal, 

It is no plaything passion that / feel! 

Device I've none, my tenderness to prove, 

Without Device, in sober truth, / love! 

In short, though much I wish that I were thinet 

I cannot wish to be your Valentine- 

To love and be beloved for one short day! 

I will be your^s for ever I — if I may! — 

Now let the verses be bad or good, it plainly 
amounts to a regular offer; I don't believe that any 
of the lines are an incli too long, or too short, but 
if they were, it would be wicked to alter them, for 
they are really genuine; they came, besides, from 
the heart, not the head, and tite heart won't be put 
out of its way by your dactyles and spondees; — be- 
sides, it did the business, and that's enough: for, as 
soon as ever the breakfast at the Vicarage was 
over, up comes Mr. Mandeville, again, not to me, 
but to Mr. Hargrave. 

* Mr. Hargrave,' says he, * I must desire that 
you' will, as soon as possible, interfere to put an 
end to these things. It is not long since I endea- 
voured, myself, to hint, as plainly as I couid, to 
Mr. Dermont, that I could not suffer my daughter 
to receive any attention from him, beyond such as 
might pass between two old play-mates: I trust, 
it is an act of indisQretion 6nly, and therefore, I 
beg of you, peremptorily, to put a stop to it; — 
Emily is a good girl, and I. don't like that she 



137 

should be made to fall into a mistake that maybe 
fatal to her happiness;— -she is very young, and 
cannot be supposed to know, so well as I do, how 
impossible it is that she should ever become the 
wife oi Mr. Dermont; — it is my business there- 
fore to protect her; — I beg; you will return this 
copy of verses to Mr. Dermont, and tell him how 
sorry I should be to forbid him coming toa house, 
which, on every other account, ought to be most 
open to him. Mrs. Mandeville is quite as much 
distressed about it as myself, and therefore it must 
be put an end to.' *I will certainly do it,' says 
Mr Hargrave, • if you desire it;' — * I do desire it 
most earnestly,'' says Mr. Mandeville; only put 
yourself in my situation, Mr. Hargrave, and I am 
sure you will see the propriety of my conduct:' — 
* My dear sir,' says Mr. Hargrave, *you have fall- 
en upon the only difficulty that embarrasses me; I 
do put myself in your situation, so completely, 
that 1 scarce know why I am to act as you tell me. 
Being of the same profession, I must have some 
feelings in common with you, of course. I am 
not married, to be sure, nor am I a father, but 
upon such an occasion, T cannot help/awcyiwg that 
lam'fcof/;; — and therefore, though I promise to 
do what you desire, if you urge it, yet I confess, 
that I think Mr. Dermont is almost old enough to 
judge for himself, and I hope, wise enough to 
judge discreetly, even in a concern where many 
certainly do blunder and mistake: — I feel for him, 
certainly, but I can feel for others too, and I 
will frankly declare, that if J were the father of a 
daughter, as beautiful and {what is ten thousand 
times more) as virtuous and as well brought up, 
as yours, I should think her worthy of the s:reatest 
M 2 



138 

man in the realm, if he chose to fix his affections; 
upon her:' — * This maj a' I appear very kind, Mr.> 
Harg;rave.' says Mr. Mandeville, * and very com-' 
plimentary, but I am not such an ideot as to fancy 
we live in a golden age;~when virtue and good' 
ness are to be reckoned of so great account as 
wealth orfamiUj; — if you will produce me a single 
instance of a poor, but very virtuous woman, or of a 
poor, but very worthy man, without great con- 
nections, being very cordially received mto jiny 
noble famili/, then I should be more easy, be<5ause 
I have no hesitation in saying, that I iirinly be- 
lieve, that if any individuals of the nobility are 
capable of such true greatness. Lord and Lady 
Kilgarnock are the very persons; — but since the 
current of things> in general, is so contrary, I will 
not do them so great an unkindness as to expect 
it of them; — I had rather run no risk. -^l wish 
Mr. Dermont happy, but I will not have my 
daughter exposed to the chance of being rejected, 
besides other disappointments.' 

* Lord Kilgarnock,' says Mr. Hargrave, *has 
really an high opinion of your daughter, Mr. Man- 
deville;'^ — * Sir,' says Mr. Mandeville, * it cannot 
be otherwise, if he knew her only half so well as 
J do, but Lord Kilgarnock knows better than to 
choose her for a wife for his son.'* — * 1 see,' says 
Mr. Hargrave, * it is vain to argue the matter with 
you, Mr. Mandeville, and I must really be under 
the necessity of returning this paper to Mr Der- 
mont, though I know I shall run the risk of dis- 
turbing him greatly in doing so;' — if. Sir,' says 
Mr, Mandeville, (with much warmth,) ' you are so 
afraid of disturbing his feelings, give it back to 
me, and 1 will put it into his own hands, to be 
^ure of it:' — ' you mistake me, Sir,' says Mr. Har- 



139 

grave, • I think Mr. Dermont is really and sineerS' 
iy attached to your daughter, and that this paper 
contains no untruth;' — *,lhen Mr. Hargrave,' says 
Mr. Mandeville, * if that be so, it behoves you the 
more to interpose, to save your pupil from a dis- 
appointment, as well as my child from what may 
be still worse:' — * I see, Sir,' says Mr. Hargrave, 
*you are getting extremely warm, and I will argue 
with you no longer, — I can only say, / will not 
return this paper to Mr. Dermont; — he sent it to 
Miss Mandeville, and it is therefore Aers;— but 
you tell me, Mr. Mandeville, that Mrs. Mande* 
ville sutfers much about it; pray then, Sir, present 
my compliments to her, and tell her, that if she can 
but bring herself to consent to its being a match, I 
have fully secured that of Lord and Lady Kiigar- 
nock; — you asked me Mr. Mandeville, to produce 
but one instance of a poor (\ mean unendowed) but 
virtuous young woman, without high connections, 
being cordially received into a noble family, and 
1 now produce one: — Lord and Lady Kilgarnock, 
so far from being averse from this match, would 
resent nothing more than to be thought insensible 
of Miss Mandeville's worth;— yon are now caught 
in your own trap;— you cannot now refuse to re- 
turn this paper to Miss Mandeville; I think she 
values it; — If she really does not, then I will pro- 
mise you to take it hack, but if she does, the busi- 
ness is settled, and I am proud and happy to tell 
you so.' — Mr. Mandeville was greatly surprised, 
and not very capable of answering, which Mr. 
Hargrave perceiving, — *I wish,' says he, * you 
would let me call upon you this evening, and I 
will talk to you more upon the subject; — at pre- 
sent, only deliver my message to Mrs. Mande- 
yiller — So saying, (as he told me himself,) he al- 



140 

most pushed Mr. Mandeville out of the house. lit'; 
the evening he took care to ^o there in t^ood time, 
and every thing was settled. — The next morning, 
as soon as my mother knew what had passed, she 
drove to the Vicarage, and had a long conversa- 
tion with Mrs. Mandeviile, much to the satisfac- 
tion, 1 verily believe, of all parties. 

But as it was now almost necessary to make 
the matter known, for fear the Twists should be- 
wilder themselves too much, it became a great 
debate among us, how it should be made known, 
particularly and immediately, as it were, to them; 
after various debates about it, in which my father 
proposed about ten different expedients, my mo- 
ther, sister and myself, probably, as many, sever- 
ally and respectively, we ventured to mention it 
to Mr. liargrave; 'My stars,' says he, * how can 
you have any difficulty about it? Pll manage it 
directly!' so he took his hat, and went straight to 
Mrs. Fidget; he pretended to be merely paying 
one of those delightful debts called a morning vi- 
sit,— and in the course of conversation, as it were, 
introduced the subject as follows: ' I suppose you 
have heard the report that is about the country,' 
'report of what?' says Mrs. Fidget: *I am sorry 
for poor Miss Twist,' says he: » Miss Twist,' says 
Mrs. Fidget, 'what o{ her?^ * Upon my word,' 
says Mr: ICargrave, 'I oughtnot to have mention- 
ed her name: I cannot think howl came to men- 
tion it,~- pray dont say a word about Miss Twist, 
—only I thought it might concern herf * What 
Bright concern her?'' says Mrs. Fidget * The re- 
port, I mean,' says Mr. Hargrave; * What report}^ 
s?ijs Mrs. Fidget. ' Why, that Mr. Robert Der- 
mont is goiny; to marry Miss Mandeviile;' * Miss 
JlundevilleJIP exclaimed Mrs. Fidget, and, as I 



141 

am told, she lifted up her ejes and her hands so 
high, that they had liked to have stuck there, and 
never come down again; • Miss Mandeville!!!* she 
repeated: * Yes, Miss Mandeville,^ says Mr. Har- 
grave, * but pray donH tell the, Twists;'' * *N*ot I^^ 
says Mrs. Fidget, * I would not tell them for the, 
world:'' *No, pray don't tell them,' says Mr. Har- 
grave, ' 1 quite dread their hearing of il; it would 
be quite cruel and unkind to acquaint them with 
it at all abruptly, for I am confident they thorough- 
ly expectej.1 him to marry Miss TwistJ' *Made 
quite certain of it, you may depend upon it,' says 
Mrs. Fidget, with no small agitation; ' Therefore^ 
says Mr. Hargrave, 'they will, I fear, be sadly 
disappointed, and I should be sorry to be the first 
person to have even to hint it to them;' * To be 
sure,' says Mrs. Fidget ,' they will he finely disap- 
pointed indeedl I can't guess how they'll bear it; 
I pity those who will have to communicate it to 
them first, especially to Mrs. Twist, whose tem- 
per (between friends) is not the most governable 
one in the world; how she will conduct herself 
upon the occasion, I have no idea.' * 1 suppose, 
however, it won't be long,' says Mr. Hargrave, 

* before they do hear of it, for though you and / 
could not fi,nd a heart to tell them, Mrs. Fidget, 
yet 1 dare say, you know there are kind neigh- 
bouis enough to be found, who would communis 
cate it in all its circumstances as soon as they 
hear it.' « True, indeed,' says Mrs. Fidget, * a se- 
cret of that nature is not lon^^ in travelling round 
a neighbourhood.'^ But she now began to be so 
restless, and so incapable of sitting still any long- 
er, that Mr. Hargrave prepared to take his leave: 

* Pray remember,' says he, ' my dear madam, not 
to say a word about it to the Twists,^ Mrs. Fidget 



142 

tailed for her c^oak: 'Pray let us a1 least, keep^ 
the secret from them as long as we can,' Mrs) 
Fidget was very impatient for her bonnet an^i 
gloves: * 1 should not, however, wonder if the 
knew it by this time,' says Mr. Hargrave, as h 
was parting from her, which so quickened the 
valedictions of Mrs. Fidget, that had she abrupth' 
turned him out of the house, she could not wel 
have more visibly shown how much she wishecll 
him to be gone: at last they separated; but] 
scarcely had Mr. Hargrave reached the first stile] ,| 
when, upon turning round, (not altogether by ac 
cident and undesignedly, but through a certaii 
presenthnent which the reader probably antici- 
pates,) he saw Mrs. Fidget walking yery much 
quicker than usual, and much beyond her natural 
strength, in the direction, as straight as a line 
eould be drawn, towards J^'icotium Castle, where 
she arrived, ready to drop, just about the time 
that Mr. Hargrave returned to the Hall. 

From the report that she very soon afterwards 
made of her visit, (for when done, nothing could 
exceed h^' care to have it universally known, that 
slw was the very identical person that first told 
the Twists the secret that so nearly touched 
them,) from her report, I say, it appeared, that 
Miss Twist seemed little affected by it, but 
tliat Mrs. Twist had so little command of her- 
self, that the moment she heard it, she ex- 
claimed with something very like an oath, — 'Then, 
ma'am, if it be so, Mr. Dermont richly deserves 
to be hanged!' Thinks- l-to-myseif, when I heard 
it, no doubt, quite as much as Vam Dash himself, 
wlio shot the father of nine children for refusing 
to drink a profane toast! however, the fact really 
was-— that Mr&, Twist, undoubtedly, felt in her 



143 

own mind, that /thoroughly did deserve to be 
Ihanged: not that she had a word more to allege 
jagainst me (though all her neighbours of course 
iwere inquiring about it from morning to night,) 
beyond her own fancies and suspicions. * What, 
[did not he make a formal offer to her?' says one. 
['Didn't he make her a solemn promise?' says an- 
iother. * Didn't he apply for a special license?' 
[says a third. * Were not the wedding clothes 
jordered?' says a fourth. * No, indeed,' says Mrs. 
Twist, * he made no offer^ no promise, he applied 
for no license, he ordered no clothes, but, yet he 
Irichiy deserves to be hanged for all that; though, 
[indeed, she would generally add,) I am by no 
means sure that Mr. Twist would have allowed 
him to marry our daughter if he had made an of- 
fer, for he is but a mean-looking youth after all, 
though he is to be a lord, and his title, when it 
comes to him, is but a Scotch one, and of the low- 
est degree of all, as I have been told, and Mr. 
Twist, I know, is resolved, in his own mind, never 
to let Grizilda marry below such a Lord as will 
make our grand-daughters ladiesP * 

* 1 wonder,' says Mrs. Fidget (I heard this from 
another of her neighbours, who promised not to 
say a word about it,) *I Wonder,' says she * Mrs. 
: Twist that you call him * a mean-looking youth; 
J have always particularly thought myself, that, 
independent of his title, his jpgr.so^z dm&talents were 
quite sufficient to recommend him to any youno- 
woman, rich or poor, noble or ignoble: besides the 
estates are so contiguous, that no match could 
have been so suitable and desirable, it must be 
confessed; and as for his barony, be might easily, 
with such a fortune as they would have had to- 
/^ber, have been made an Miirl^ or a Marquis 



144 I 

or perhaps a Duke! Who knows? I was sadlf^ 
afraid it would vex you, and therefore was very^ 
loath to come and tell you; only I thought yoii 
would rather hear it first from a friend^ thanii 
from any more indifferent person;^ if it were at all 
a doubtful matter, if there v/ere still the leasi, 
chance of his marrying your daughter^ I should, 
have waited patiently^ and on no account haveif 
run the risk of disturbing your feelings unneces-j 
sarily, but I had it from the very first authorityji 
from Mr. Hargrave himself, indeed, who came to 
me, so full of it, and seemed to pity poor Mis^ 
Twist so much, that he could talk of nothing else! 
all the while he was with me. i 

'Pity poor Miss Twist, indeed,' says Mrs- 
Twist!!! ' 1 do beg and intreat that he will keepf 
his pity to himself; pity Miss Twist! pity ourv 
daughter!! pity the heiress of these wide domains! 
because she is not to marry a poor Scotch Baronin 
poor I may well call him, for I am told he gets 
nothing with his title but his great grandfather's 
picture and a family watch; pity poor Miht 
Twist indeed!! I wonder, Mrs. Fidget, you could | 
suffer such a low fellow to talk so in your pre- 
sence/ — * Indeed, my dear madam,' rejoins Mrs. 
Fidget, * I did not feel iuclined to stop him, be- 
cause he seemed truly and most sincerely to feel 
for the cruel disaijpointment your daughter (as he 
thought) was about to suffer, else indeed^ 1 should! 
have thought it impertinent, as you say, for suclij 
a low man to have pretended to pity your daugh- 
ter: for, though I believe him to be a good man 
in his way, every body knows undoubtedly, that* 
some of his ancestors were no better than dealers 
in drugs, that is, in snuff or tobacco, or some such 
filth!^ 



I 145 

'llus did these two amiable ladies, as I am in- 
formed, conduct themselves towards each other, 
upon this memorable occasion. Mrs. Fidget ne- 
ver rested talking ab'.>it it, till it was known all 
over the country; aiui the more Mrs. Twist 
scorned to he pitied, tlve more Mrs. Fidget insisted 
upon feeling \ov her, 

R'ss Maridevilie was now a frequent guest at 
the hall, and my father and mother seemed to get 
every day more fond of her. Captain Chaileville 
was also continually with us, so that w^e made a 
large family party. My father's journey to Scot- 
land, htwever, seemed to become every day more 
inevitaUe, so that ny poor mother was very low, 
and littlft capable- of enjoying herself so much as 
would otherwise have been the case. 

Mr. Twist vaj>peared to be too much engrossed 
with hi? dogs and horses, to care much about the 
businesi. On one account he was rather glad than 
sorry, a' the course of things, namely, because it 
produce^ a greater shyness than ever between his 
family And the ilandevilles, so as to render it 
highly reasonable in his opinion, that he should to- 
tally ^nd entirely give up going to church, which 
he hr.d certainly never done hitherto, except as a 
sorC of compliment and condescension to the fa- 
ridly at the Vicarage^ he now easily determined 
in his own mind, that his visits there might be al- 
together dispensed with, and that henceforth, with- 
out the sniaile ;tlet or hindrance, Sunday might be 
quite as much his own as any other day in the week: 
— tliis gave him great content: — « Bob Dermont 
may have all the sermonizing and psalm-singing 
to himself, now,^ says he; * for me: I'll let him my 
whole pew for a sixpence a year, and give him all 



I4G 

the prayer-books and hassocks into the bargnn,*— 
they are none of your old, rotten, indentedy worm-l 
eaten commodities, 1 promise you> but all as gooi^il 
as new, though they have been there these ten 
years; knee never touched one of them yet 
to the best of my knowledge, saving and except- 
ing, perhaps, Saint WatiorCs-,^ — (meaning the Go4 
verness,:) and I fancy indeed, Mr. Twist wa 
perfectly correct; for the truth is, they generally' 
sat close up in the different corners of the pew, 
engaged in reading novels, sleeping, or making- 
fun of all that was going forward; I must i'ay, 
however, they had the decency to set up jy close 
in the corners, that nobody could see what they 
were about; neither the parsoVy nor the clerk, nor . 
the churchwardens, nor the sexton, nor oae of the] 
singers, nor any of the people up in thegullery; in 
fact, only God Almighty!!!' Thinks-I-ij-myself, 
possibly. He saw them all the while; in the 
church, and out of the church, most likelv; in the 
corners of the said pew, as much as in the very 
middle of iti 

Twist's common practice was,^ to keep Sunday 
for travelling. The road on that day, he would 
say, was so unincumbered with carts and wagons, 
that he was determined never to journey on any 
other day in the week but that, if he could possi- 
bly help it; and surely he was right; for, certainly 
wagons and carts, with the dust they make in 
summer, and the splashing they make in winter, 
and the certainty of being always in the way, 
whether you meet them or come behind them, are 
most intolerable nuisances; you may say what 
you will of their utility, in carrying corn or hay, 
or turnips, or carrots, into the metropolis, or 
liringing manure out of it, but it cannot be denied. 



147 

:"hat to such travellers as Twist, they arc shock- 
ing impediments: and I must take upon me to say, 
that any nobleman or gentleman, who is as rick as 
Twist, and has as much command of his time, and 
IS much courage, cannot do better than adept his 
plan: double turnpikes need not stop such travel- 
ers: I confess, 1 know nothing that can render it 
%t all objectionable, except the fourth command- 
ment: that, I very well know, bids us to ' keep 
hohj the Sabbath day,' and not only to do no manner 
yof work in it ourselves, but not to let our sons, or 
Idaughters, or our men-servants, ar maid-servants, 
f]<Jo any; no, nor our cattle, or even the stranger 
ithat happens to be within our gates; but, since 
travelling implies, in the very definition of the 
word, a quitting of home, a.nd, of course, all the 
relations above enumerated, whether the com- 
mandment can possibly be intended to prevent our 
I compelling, or bribing, or seducing other people^s 
sons and daughters, men-servants, and maid-ser- 
vanVs, cattle, and strangers to work on the Sab- 
.bath, nay, to do any manner of work that the rich 
jinay choose to call upon them to do, I leave to 
be settled and determined by all those who may 
wish and desire to avail themselves of the conve- 
nience of an unincumbered road. I confess, I have 
often considered the point mysell"j and shall can- 
didly confess, that I think not! indeed, T am so 
much persuaded of this, that rich as I now am, I 
actually never f/are to travel on a Sunday, except 
in a case of absolute and indispensable necessity; — 
so far, I must confess, our neighbour Twist was a 
man of more spirit and resolution than either my 
father or myself; — he did not seem to care a fig for 
the fourth commandment, and therefore stood up- 
on nc sort of ceremony about violating it, not only 



43 



^ 



bj encouraging and promoting all the unhallowedi 
work 1 sptak of, robbing and depriving men, cat- 
tle, and strangers, of the rest God would hav^ 
given them, but bj keeping the Sabbath as unholy 
as he could keep it, and tempting and forcing 
others continually to do the same. 

There was another thing of which Twist was; 
exceedingly fond: — 1 mean betting upon all sorts 
of events: — I have already mentioned his bet with 
Lord , on Bob Gubbins and Big Beelze- 
bub: — if any body had but offered him the wager, 
he would have betted, 1 make no doubt, that he 
would find * d cameP that would *go through the 
eye of a needle;' — and indeed 1 wonder, that 
among the many bets sought out and invented, by 
the sporting and gambling speculators of the dayj 
this has never been attempted; — for, should it ever 
be attended with success, (the torture and agonies 
of the squeezed camel need never stand in the 
way!) it would seem to follow, as a matter of 
course, that it would be quite as feasible for such 
sort of' rich'^ fellows as Twist and his associates, 
to get to Heaven; — which, I am afraid, will con- 
tinue as problematical as ever, if things happen 
to proceed just as they now do. 

Of matches against time also, (as they are call- 
ed,) Twist was equally fond.—Now these are, 
comparatively, well enough: — because, though 
perhaps in the course of every year, a number of 
useful and innocent animals may get harassed and 
tormented out of their lives, yet there is no diffi- 
culty in 'determining who wins and who loses; — 
but, matches against eternity, (by which I un- 
derstand all matches, that may, on account of the 
cruelty, profligacy, or foily attending them, be 
taken accou^t of hereafter,) are certainly very 



149 

silly, because, for what we can ever know, in this 
mortal stage of our lives, the greatest winner, 
mar be the greatest loser after all! Twist, him- 
self, absolutely killed two beautiful (and favour- 
ite!) ponies at this very work, and yet he thought 
he wow;— but. Thinks -Lto -my self » perhaps, after 
ail he lost; for, * the race is not always to the 
siuift;'—' there is a/ime to^e*, and a time toloseJ'' 
— *'the merciful man doeth good to his own soul, 
but he that is crueU troubleth his own flesh.' 

1 am willing, however, to hope and believe, that 
Twist was not in his heart, a professed Gambler, 
A certain degree of self-delusion hid from his view 
both the profligacy and danger of most of his oc- 
cupations and pursuits, but I am rather anxious to 
record it of him, that he was not, as I said before, 
a professed gamester. He would take a bet when 
offered, and' he would play with those who were 
accustomed to play. But he did not go out of his 
way to seduce the young and unsuspecting? to take 
advantage of the ignorant and unskilful; he did 
not go the length of wantonly making havoc of 
the peace of families^' wringing the heart of the 
fond wife, the helpless orphan, the aged parent, 
by effecting the rapid and instantaneous ruin of 
those to whom they looked for support and com- 
fort.' He was not such a villain as this 
amounts to. I have, on the contrary, more than 
once heard him declare, that he would go far to 
save any youth from the snares that are laid for 
them at a gaming-table, and to prevent their tak- 
ing the first step into that gulf of ftorror and des- 
pair. A professed and systematic gambler he 
ever regarded as a wretch too base to be entitled 
to the common rights and privileges of Society; 

N 2 



150 



lie knew indeed, much of tlieir disgraceful and 
pernicious habits and practices, h;jv!ng liiraself 
nearly fallen a victim to tlieir treacherous, seduc- 
tive, and base arts in his early days; a circum^ 
stance which always appeared to have made a 
particular impression on his mind, and which, 
though it had not the happy effect of turning him 
away entirely from such irrational and hazardous 
pursuits, yet made him occasionally feel, and even 
tremble, for others, who were not in the way to 
know (what he kneiv) of the ha] barons deceptions, 
low cunning, and base designs of habitual games- 
ters, and how liable the young, the ignorant, Sind ^ 
theunwary are to be drav.^n into that sad vortex'| 
of dissipation and ruin. What a pity that he cQ^h^^' 
not have gone a few steps farther, and seen the 
folly and corrupt tendency of his own mode of 
life, and that of most of his associates: for bad ex- 
ample may, and- often does, as effectually and as 
fatally take the young an '. unwary by surprise, as 
the most premeditated design, or the most studied 
dissimulation. 

My father and Mr. Harftrave were now very 
soon to set off for Scotland, to the great concern 
and regret of all the party: — no little boy going 
to school for the first time, could have had more 
admonitions given him, by his mother, than my 
father received from mine, as the time for his de- 
parture approached; I had had a spice of the same 
myself, vvhen I went into the same remote coun- 
try; — numberless were the expedients endeavour- 
ed to be impressed upon his memory, how to as- 
certain to a certainty at every inn, whether the 
bedding or i^heetswere damp; purses were regular- 
ly and systematically made up for highwaymen, 
for fear he should get shot, through any dehiy in 



151 

tVie delivery of what they might be pleas.ed to ask 
for; and the strongest entreaties were made use 
of, to prevent his ever attempting to dffend him* 
self'm case he should be attacked, for fear itmight 
be misconstrued into wilful resistance; — with a 
view to wliich, his pistols, which had been ordered 
to be got ready, were put back again a thousand 
times, mj mother never being able to settle in her 
own mind, whether, in such rencontres, the defeme 
or exjjosure of one's person were most secure. 

But the medicine chest with which he was pro- 
vided, was the most curious. Mj father hated 
physic~as well the use as the taste of it; — he ge- 
nerally enjoyed an excellent state of health, and 
r xe knevv the name of one of the diseases with 
which the bulk of mankind are tormented; — but 
the medicine chest, which my mother's extreme 
care and anxiety had induced her to prepare for 
the occasion, would have led any one to think he 
was subject to all the maladies under the sun: as 
j the gout had once been in his family, according to 
j tradition, there was one whole compartment till- 
\ ed with medicines to eure that complaint, in case 
I he should have it, and another with medicines to 
\ bring the gout in case he should seem to want it, 
I and have it not: — there was laudanum to put him 
to sleep, and emetics and stimulants to relieve 
and awaken him ii. case he should happen to take 
1 too much, and sleep too long; there were abund- 
j ance of nostrums to keep oflf infection, and just as 
I many to cure it in case it could not be kept off; — 
i many coo/fj?^ preparations were added for fear he 
! sliould ever be over-heated, e,nd the like propor- 
; tion of cordials and carminatives in case he should 
, ever suffer from cold; — every powder, and packet, 
I and bottle, and box, besides being regularly la> 



152 



1 



belled and marked inside and out, in a hand the 
most legible, for fear of any perplexity or mistake 
in the administration of the several remedies, — 
but my mother was not like other mothers or 
other wives; such maternal and conjugal feelings 
as hers, are now so out of vogue, that 1 expect no 
credit for what I have related; — yet so it was. At 
last, the day came for their departure, and the 
heart-bveaking separation took place. 

Mrs. Mandeville was a great comfort to my 
mother during my father's absence, the more so, 
undoubtedly, from the new situation in which 
they stood connected with each other; — but she 
was certainly a most sensible and amiable woman, 
very different from most of our other neighbours. 

In the mean while, Mrs. Fidget did all she 
could to set ws against the Twists, as she had pre- 
viously done all she could to set them against us: 
and this upon the avowed pretence of being the 
particular friend o^ both pa.rt\es: whatever Mrs. 
Twist, in feer disappointment, happened to utter 
against us, Mrs. Fidget, out of her extreme friend- 
ship and regard, took care to repeat at Grumble- 
thorpe, as quick as she could; and every thing she 
saW passing at Grumblethorpe, that she thought 
could at all tend to revive or aggravate Mrs. 
Twist's disappointment, she was just as careful 
to make known as speedily as possible at Nico- 
tium Castle; — -'I suppose you have heard what 
Mrs. Twist says,' was the general bent of her 
conversation with us, and, * What a deal of love- 
making there is at the Hall,' her continual re- 
mark at Nicotium Castle. 

I cannot help mentioning these things, because 
this sort of character is so extremely rare and 
uncommon: In the whole circle of your acquaint- 



153 

*nce, gentle reader, in town or country, in public 
or in private, I don't suppose you ever met with 
such a woman as Mrs. Fidget! her delight was 
to go from one house to another among her neigh- 
bours, purposely to report and communicate at 
each, whatever she knew to be most likely to oc- 
casion liistress and vexation; and if there were a 
chance of any shyness or open rupture between 
any two parties ensuing from it, so much the bet- 
ter for Mrs. Fidget. There was nothing too bad 
for her thus to convey fiom one neighbour to an- 
other. The worse indeed it was, so much the 
better for her: she seemed indeed to be constant- 
ly making trials how far one person could bear to 
be told, that another person thought her a. fool or a 
devil, or old, or ugly, or mad, ov proud, or peevish, 
or coveteous, or artful, or hypocritical; though she 
was careful enough to varnish over the communi- 
cation of any such pleasant piece of news with a 
certain alFected laugh, which, though it might bein- 
tended to express /igr particular fZissewf, said as plain- 
ly as possible, — * And sure enough I think it trueJ' 
It was thus, in this light airy sort of way, 
that is, that I was first made acquainted with 
the reflecdon cast upon my Honourable per- 
son by Mrs. Twist, and to which I have before 
alluried:^ — ' I suppose you know, Mr. Dermont,' 
says she, * what Mrs. Twist calls you;— I sup- 
pose you know that she thinks you a ' mean 
looking youth,'' ha, ha, ha, he, he, he, — a mean 
looking youth, indeed! and 'poor into the bar- 
gainf — she says, * you are to get nothing with 
your title, but your great grandfather's portrait 
and a fanuly watch;' — but did you hear what she 
says of Miss Mandeville, too: — she says, ' she 
looks, for all the world, like a lump of snow; or a 



154 

ric^ dumpling, without any sweet-mesit in it, ha^ 
ha, ha,^ Sfc. 

1 could mention a hundred other things to thei 
same effect, in which the malice and ill -nature oi 
this neighbourly friend, and friendly neighbour, 
were equally conspicuous, but, really, such a char- 
acter is so very outre, so entirely out of the common 
course of things, so perfectly contrary to one's or- 
dinary experience of the ways of the world, that I 
could not expect to be credited on my bare word, 
nay, surely not on my oath: — Who could possibly 
believe me, if I were to assert it ever so, that Mrs. 
Fidget, after trying all she could to set us against 
Mrs. Twist, could take the trouble of going ex- 
pressly to Nicotium Castle merely to tell the lat- 
ter, how much she was surprised and grieved to 
find, that she (Mrs. Twist) was not so great a fa- 
vourite at Grumblethorpe Hall as heretofore! I 
say, gentle reader, could you, from your know- 
ledge of the world, and experience of human con- 
duct ever believe, that any such malicious creature 
as Mrs. Fidget could exist? and yet I declare I 
know this to be the fact, nay, and that she would 
have been very much hurt if any body had been 
beforehand with her; that is, had got the start of 
her, in communicating this friendly and most 
agreeable piece of intelligence. 

Three days after my father had quitted us, my 
poor mother was made superlatively happy by re- 
ceiving a letter from him to inform her, that he 
believed he should not have occasion to go farther 
than London, for that his lav/yer had had a letter 
from the parties in Scotland, to say, that in conse- 
quence of the information communicated to them, 
they should not attempt to contest the point; that 
the"documents that had been discovered, were, in 



15^ 

aTI likelihood, too clear to be set aside, and there- 
fore that they were willing to have it settled by 
reference to counsel in London. The case was 
accordingly submitted to certain persons of the 
greatest eminence in Westminster Hall, and 
speedily determined without a dissentient voice, 
in our favour. — In less than a fortnight, therefore, 
roy father returned 10,000^. per annum richer than 
when he went from us. 

It was well bestowed^ for he was a most munifi- 
cent, benevolent, charitable man; if a fellow- 
creature stood in need of assistance, his purse was 
open; he gave freely to the grateful and the un- 
grateful; for I am sorry to say, there were many 
of the latter among those he benefitted; — the poor, 
in general, were extremely unthankful: — they 
would receive his bounty, courtesy, and bow, and 
thank him, when they met him, but always covet 
more, and do him damage without compunction 
or remorse: — -he knew it as well as I do; but stiil 
he would give; for, he would say, they know na 
better; they have not been educated as we have 
been: — give, and it shall be given you again; if 
not by those you serve, yet by God Almighty, 
which is far better security. 

It will be easily supposed, that occasionally we 
had among ourselves,^ much conversation and'con- 
sultation about the approaching nuptials, both of 
myself and my sister:— all which, being matter of 
mere private concern and arrangement, I certain- 
ly need not trouble the reader with it! — there were 
many other things also to be thought of; — I was 
not far now from being of age; don't stare, gentle 
reader, I say, 1 was now nearly of age: — * Tempus 
fugit,' you know, or in plain English, Time flies! 
you may think what you please about the length 



156 

of time mpst accortlant with the order of events,-, 
as they seem to stand in this narrative, but I aim 
almost positive, that 1 must have been nearly crfl 
age, or if not, that there is no great harm done by^ 
preUnding to be so; — you will remember that I 
have never once told you how old I was at the 
beginning of this book, when Mrs. Fidget and the 
pug dogs paid their first visit at Grumblethorpe- 
Hall, so that of course you don't know how old II 
was when I went to Scotland: nor can you tell! 
exactly how long I was upon the road thither, 
taking in the excursion to the Lakes; then I re- 
mained in Scotland, if you recollect, full two' 
years, as I took particular care to tell you, andi 
returned from Scotland rather slowly: then as to 
the time expended in making love to Emily, after 
I had permission to do so, its exact duration has 
been purposely kept secret from you, so that I am 
well assured, that let your critical acumen, be 
what it may, you have no fair right to dispute my 
being now nearly of age. 

As a most amazing entertainment was intend- 
ed to be given at the era of this joyous event, my 
father conceived that it would be well, if possible, 
to bring the two jubilees together; or, as Mrs. Fid- 
get would say, to * kill two or three birds with 
one stone;' that is, that I should be married about 
that time: either a little before, or a little after; — 
and, if Captain Charleville and my sister should 
choose to avail themselves of the same opportunity, 
they were welcome to doit; — thus the whole bu- 
siness n^ight rather resemble the rich Camacho^s 
wedding in Don ^uixotte, where Sancho Fanza 
ladled up, if you remember, ivhole ducks, and 
chickens, and sucking pigs at every dip into the 
jmtJ and now 1 speakof Sancho Fanza, my heart 



137 

almost aches to think T could not invite hiin to 
my wedding; — how delighted I should have been 
to have seen him there;— how 1 would have stuff- 
ed him, liis body, and his wallets too, with rarities 
and dainties, and all kind of choice things! — but 
enough of this. 

My coming of age led also to other things. 
The title and estate that had come to my father, 
bad given him an influence in some of the Scotch 
Boroughs, and he expressed his wish to me that I 
should be in TdrVmmenU— Clod- pole in Parlia- 
menV—Thinki-I-to-mi/self, was ever such a thing 
heard of as a Clodpole in Parliament!!—! actually 
did not reckon myself quite fit for it, and ventur- 
ed one day to tell my father so: — ' JS^otfit for it,' 
says he! ' surely you are as fit as this and that and 
t^ckher,^ whom he ran over with such a volubility 
of reckoning through the A's and B's and C's, 
quite down to Izzard, (I know not how many he 
enumerated,) ending unfortunately, with two or 
three of the Whip Club, against whom he had a 
particular spite: — ' Surely, my boy,' says my fa- 
ther, *you are as fit to be in Parliament, as such 
fellows as those!' I was always sorry, I confess, to 
hear him say so, of the Whip Club, because it was 
one of the few prejudices he had that could be said 
to be at all unreasonable; for 1 could never possi- 
bly agree with him about that particular associa- 
tion of gentlemen: — I always supposed that it 
must be altogether impossible for any body to see 
those illustrious personages, quit the metropolis 
in the. way they are accustomed to do, at broad 
DAY, BAROUCHE after BAROUCHE, accoutfcd as ex- 
actly as possible like mail-coachmen driving 

THEIR OWN SERVANTS, &C. &C. &C.~- But thcv 

O 



158 

must be tempted to think at least, if not to say 4. 
themselves, (as I generally do) what useful, whal 
w^se, what valuable, what important, what digni^ 
feed members of the state!! ^ 

And now I am upon this most interesting sub- 
ject, I cannot help adding, that I still more ad- 
mire the TANDEM Club, because those gentlemen: 
must of necessity be better coachmen than any of 
the rest; — the four horses of a Barouche are so 
harnessed and hooked together, that in a great 
measure they take care one of another; (if, in- 
deed, they should all four happen to agree to run 
away at once, mercy upon all behind them! not to 
mention alt before them)~but in a tandem I see 
nothing to induce the leader to keep his course 
straigiit forward, but an address, on the part of 
the charioteer, as nearly as can be supernatural: 
for * if the fore-horse chooses to go to the right oi" 
the left on a sudden, he may plainly overset th© 
carriage, before any creature upon earth sitting 
five yards behind him, could be quick enough to 
bring him to his senses; especially if a pig, or a 
jack-ass, or a v/ind-mill, or a pack of gypsies, or 
a scissor-grinder^s machinery, should stand in his 
way,— and, for my own part, I think leaders ot 
tandems are particularly apt to turn short round, 
on a sudden, in the way I describe;— numbers and 
numbers have I seen perform this manoeuvre, so 
suddenly and unexpectedly, that one would have 
sworn it must be done on purpose to confound 
the driver; and the assurance and impiidence v/ith 
which they do it, in some instances-* is past all 
description; staring all the while falfcin the faces 
of those in the carriage, as much as ^6 say, I must 
have a peep at the fools behind whc are pretend- 
ing to manage me. — It is, however, I must con- 



159 

Pess, a glaring contradiction that near-sighted 
3eople should drive Tandems, (I spea.k to Scho- 
.ars;) jet such things are! Heaveii protect his Ma- 
jesty's liege subjects!-— 

Well, I v/as to be ia Parliament, as soon as a 
fair opportunity should occur!— I was to repre- 
sent sotne six or seven Scotch boroughs, (as the 
famous Charly Fox once did,) and get acquaint- 
ed with my constituents as I could. — Thinks-Lto- 
myself, this sounds odd: — but yet, Whj not?— 
Who knows all his constituents, or gets acquaint- 
ed with them otherwise? — And^ perkaps, I maybe 
as competent to legislate for the empire at large 
with but few constituents, and little communica- 
tion with them, as if I were to represent West- 
minster, or Middlesex, or London, and held an 
intercourse with them daily in 2''averns,or on Hus- 
tingSy or from triumphal cars^ or in Westminster 
Hall, or from the top or box of an Hackney 
Coach, I say, perhaps: — I had rather of the two 
have few constituents, and consider myself as re- 
presentative of the nation at large, than a multi- 
tude of such whimsical chaps, such odd friends of 
liberty as would never suffer me so much as to 
think even to myself, any thing contrary to their 
particular whims and caprices, (nay, perhaps their 
local and personal prejudices,) and, unless I bow- 
ed downto them, with almost idolatrous worship, 
would be sure to pelt me, with cabbage-stalks or 
brick-bats, dead cats or d«ad dogs, rotten apples, or 
rotten eggslr^-as to the real patriotism or genuine 
liberality of u h chaps, Thinks-I-to-myself, it is 
all a ! ai i a big rouncixgone, too; 

But the n mister, — the minister; — he may have 
an undue injliience over me; — aye, so he may in- 
deed, and, Thinks- l4o-my self, there can to be sure 



160 

be no undue influence in a hliidgeon!—m hissings^i 
and hootings, and peltings, and cat calls, and pla-, 
cards; no: these are mighty harmless, amiable, de- 
lightful helps to freedom of thought, and speech, 
and conduct; — Heaven bless tUe people vvho wish 
to call them into action e\evj three years, instead 
of sevenl Our Scotch bitrouj^hs are at least, 
(IViinks-I'to-mysptfJ as well off as the minority 
m Sin J popular election, who must, in the issue of 
things, be contented to be represented, not only 
by a man not of their own choice, but by one who 
possibly has, by himself or friends, done all he 
could to exasperate and affront them! 

But integrity, integrity^ — aye, there's the rub: 
integrity is every thing; — no corruption; — no 
placemen; — no! — down with them alU — integrity 
is the only qualification for a Parliament man: — 
come then, all you honest Tom Dashes, drive up 
to London; — you honest country gentlemen that 
never breathed the corrupt air of a court, or a roy- 
al residence, or wished to get a step higher in the 
world; — you are the people, the only people; — 
you have no prejudices, no piques, no passions, no 
partialities, no professional bias, no pretensions be- 
yond integrity^ — let trade take care of itself^^* 
and the army-, and the navy, and the churchy and 
the law; — you can make laws and statutes 
enough, no doubt, with your integrity, without any 
other aid or assistance whatsoever: — in truth, I 
believe, you are, fqr the most part, honest and 
uncorrupt, and I ever wish to see a pretty sprink- 
ling of you among the other legislators of the 
realm: — I wish too, that integrity may ever prove 
as powerful as it is judged by some to be, and 
perhaps it may, when the Millenium begins; — then 
I think, (but not an hour before,^ honesty may 



161 

€a1ly become the best policy, and (what is more 

the purpose^ the only policy wanted. 

i love reform as well as any: — I wish we were 
iH reformed: — not merely the Parliament House, 
jut you and I, and such folks as Mr. Twist, and 
Bob Gubbins, and Big Beelzebub: — and I love 
John Bull too;— and I love him dearly, and I 
would have him always live at large, in fat pas- 
tures, and with as little work as possible all the 
days of his life; only I wish him to be as good hu- 
moured and civil as he can be, and never to butt 
or bellow, out of mere sulkiness, or pride, or wan- 
tonness, or ill-nature, or caprice, or solely for the 
sake of frightening harmless people out of their 
wits; — which I think, sometimes, he has been 
rather inclined to do. 

Before the happy time came for my union with 
Emily, Miss Twist picked up another /over or 
admirer, or whatever you may please to call him: 
it was a young ' Muster Dash;' a dissipated, pro- 
fligate youth of fortune, nearly resembling, by all 
accounts, the most amiable and deeply lamented 
Tom Dash, of sporting celebrity. Mrs. Twist, I 
am told, was much hurt, when she first discover- 
ed that he had no chance of inheriting even a 
Scotch Barony, and grieved within herself, that 
after all, * our grand daughters, stood a great 
chance of being plain misses. She ventured once, 

1 am told, to remonstrate against it; but Miss 
swore 'she'd have him, whether they would or no; 
she'd buy him ev-rso ^leat a title, if that were all.' 
They were continualiy riding out together, leap- 
ing hedges and ditches; particularly directing 
their attacks against my poor father's fences, to 
revenge the insult, I suppose, which had appear^ 

yj At 



162 

eil to have been put upon the young lady, by the| 
heir apparent's cold neglect. This trespass, how-?^ 
ever, continued but a short time, for Nicotium 
Castle soon became an insufferable bore to these 
two Dashers, so that they worried Mr. and Mrs. 
Twist down to Brighton in the summer, and up 
to London in the winter: and then down to Brigh- 
ton again, and from Brighton to Margate, and 
from Margate to London again; and from London 
to Cheltenham, and from Cheltenham to Bath, 
and from Bath to Cheltenham again; and so on. — >. 
Almost every Sabbath day they changed their 
place of abode. The Twist property seemed to 
be going much as it came:— that is, it appeared ta 
be in a fciir way of being dissipated like smoke; — 
so that Mr. Twist, himself, at length began to 
get out of humour, and judged it not improper to 
interfere before they all got ruined together; — he 
determined, therefore, at once, to break off the 
connection; and with the full weight of his pater^ 
nal authority, even ventured to open his mind to 
his gentle and amiable daughter; that is, the love- 
ly Miss Grizilda: — he peremptorily told her the 
intercourse must be put an end to, and that she 
must consent to see 'young Muster Dash^ no 
more. 

Upon this fatherly communication, the obedient 
and accomplished daughter, burst out a laughing y 
as I am told, in his face, declaring, that she heed- 
ed none of his threats, for that they had been pri- 
vately married more than three weeks; which was 
the exact truth of the matter. 

As she was a minor, he at first vowed he would 
endeavour to set it aside, but at length relented, 
and was reconciled. It would have been a great 
pity, indeed, if he and * young Muster Basil' liad 



16S 

quarrelled, for in most respects, they were, un- 
doubtedly, * birds of a feather-,'' and perfectly suit- 
ed to each other. Miss Watson had long before 
been sent off; as soon as ever, that is, that Miss 
Grizilda/e^f, (which was marvellously soon J that 
she was, herself, come to years of discretioxx! 

All these evepts luckily kept the Twists out of 
the country while the preparations were making 
for Clodpole'^s wedding, as well as for the cele- 
bration of his coming of age. — I was married just 
three weeks previously to the latter event, and my 
sister about a fortnight before it. — The fete that 
took place in consequence of these three great 
^occurrences, was certainly most splendid, costly, 
|inc} magnificent; — ojoen roasted whole; fountains 
lif^ wine and ale; — bonfires upon all the hills;-~- 
country gambols, &c. &c. &c. but, no cock fight- 
ing; — NO bull-baiting; — no bojeing; — no cudgel^ 
'playing; — no matches against time; — no ass-rac^ 
ing; — there was plenty of sport and amusement 
without these, — every thing was provided, in 
short, that could be provided, to make the ration- 
al part of the company merry, but nothing per- 
mitted that could make one individual^ either of 
the rational or irrational creation, miserable. 

And here, I cannot help observing, that rny fa- 
ther took delight at all times to make the poor 
happy, provided they would consent to be made 
so in a reasonable way; — he never courted popu- 
larity by making them drunk, iir turbulent, or sau- 
cy; — he was a real friend to them, and not a pre- 
tended one; — he never went among them, as ma- 
ny do, merely to urge them to be discontented 
witli their condition, holding forth to them no 
other relief but the mere ri^ht of complaining; — 
he endeavoured, all he could, to do away every 



164 

occasion of discoritent and complaint, bj admin- 
istering to tiie quiet removal of every removable 
grievance, and teaching them at the same time, 
bj his own example, patiently to bear all that 
were really not removable; — he was not a demo- 
crat in the too common sense of the term; that is, 
SLniean man with sl jjroud heart, who seeks only 
to pull down the great that he may be as great as 
any: but he was a great man with an humble soul, 
f which 1 regard as the true democrat;^ — he al- 
ways tried to elevate the low by such a demea- 
nour towards them as migl^it sink all worldly dif- 
ferences, and make them feel the only sort of 
equality v-'hich God hath ordained, an equality of 
affection, friendship and brotherhood. — The fete 
at Grumblethorpe was conducted upon these prin- 
ciples, and these principles only;^ — there was no 
encouragement given to licentiousness, much less 
to cruelty or profaneness; yet as far as expense 
and munificence could provide ' things lawful and 
honest,^ every man svas made free, and every man 
welcome. 

So we were married; and so I came of age: — - 
and here my history had better, perhaps, be 
brought to a conclusion, for the marriage in such 
vi^orks as these, is generally like the billing of the 
curtain at the play-house; — however; I have a sort 
of Epilogue still to deliver, and then I shall make 
my final bow. 

"My sister's match turned out as happily as my 
own, so that my worthy father and mother reaped 
the just fruits of all their kind care of us. — They 
had treated us like reasonable creatures from our 
infancy, and tlierefore we grew up to be such, 
and 1 trust have continued so ever since, and t:his 



165 

has made the irtarriage state a happy dispensation 
to ourselves and our connections: 

Captain Charleville had been brought up much 
Tike ourselves, and Emily^s education has been 
described. Every accomplishment we severally 
possessed, either of mind or body, was in its na- 
ture permanent; — we had been taught nothing/ri- 
volous, notW\n^ fantastical; — nothing likely to go 
out of fashion^ or become obsolete; personal ac- 
complishments had not been neglected, nor 
amusements proscribed, but even these had been 
so managed aad conducted, as to be subservient 
to the great end and object of our education, 
namely, the improvement of our minds and intel- 
lects; we had learnt nothing superficially or for 
temporary purposes; whatever ithad been thought 
necessary for us to learn, we had been thorough- 
ly instructed in, and nothing had been judged ne- 
cessary , but what was likely to assist our judg- 
ments, to regulate our manners, to temper our 
passions, and to render us useful as well as 
agreeable to our fellow creatures, from the begin- 
ning of life to the end of it. 

Miss Twist had, perhaps, been educated be- 
yond any of us, as far as expense, and variety, Sind 
show were concerned; but almost every thing she 
had thus acquired was out of fashion by the time 
she got married, and quite so by the time she 
had a family; so that her husband was no better 
for it at all, and her children only so much the 
worse; for as shoiv and variety were originally the 
prime objects of all her pursuits, the love of show% 
and the love of variety, never abated, so that fresh 
expenses continually became necessary to keep 
pace with the follies and vanities of the day, till 
all the accumulations of the thrifty tobacconist at 



163 

length tlvviiidled into nothing, and at this moment 
the Twist stile no longer separates the two do- 
mctiKs; — the Nicotiuni property came to the ham- 
mer several years ago, and Ciodpole, after all, is 
in possession of the whole! 

My being in Parliament laid us under a neces- 
sity of being more in London than was quite 
agreeable, either to Emily or myself. The fair 
face of nature had charms for us, which we look- 
ed for in vain in the dark and dirty metropolis. — 
As far as wc ourselves were personally concern- 
ed, we found no compensation, in the noise and 
bustle of that enormous city, for the quiet retire- 
ment, and calmer pleasures of a rural residence. 

I fear I should be accounted dull and stupid to 
the greatest degree, nay, judged to be altogether 
of a mean, and base spirit, were I explicitly to 
declare how much I do really prefer the one to the 
other. I will even acknowledge that sometimes 
I have been almost ashamed to confess it to my- 
self, fearing it could only result from a disposition 
to prefer nature in general, to human nature; — 
that is, inanimate and irrational objects to my 
fellow creatures; for, while the country abounds 
with th^e former, it has ever appeared to me, that 
human nature may be said to have London to it- 
self: — whoever, therefore, has but one spark of 
real philanthhopy; that is, whoever can bring 
himself to love man merely as man, in preference 
to all other beings and earthly existences what- 
soever, (which is, it must be confessed, the height 
of Christianity,) to whomsoever, I say, this can 
happen, London must needs be the very place in 
which he ought most to delight; inasmuch, in 
all probabilit}', that renowned city, take it alto- 
gether, contains within it, more of human nature, 



167 

than anj other corner of the globe; — I mean, of 
genuine human nature, such as man really is, not 
by education, but in spite of education, and every 
other restraint whatsoever, human or divine: — 
man, to be beloved as man, ought certainly to be 
seen and known in London^ because there he may 
be seen in almost every possible situation, and 
under every variety of character, and therefore, 
if he does really deserve to be loved as he ought 
to be, or in other words, as our holy religion en- 
joins, where can we expect to be better satisfied 
and convinced of his matchless and extraordinary 
perfections, than in that general receptacle and 
resort of the species at large: — Therefore, it is, 
that I grieve to say, that after numberless efforts* 
to the contrary, 1 still seem to prefer nature at 
large: — Thinks-Ito-myself, there's rather more 
appearance of order, of harmony, of beauty, of 
utility, of virtue, of innocence in the view of al- 
most any country district, than of the most 
thronged, crowded, populous, busy part of Lon- 
donl 

This I conceive to be a genuine Tliinksl-to- 
myself: — I don't suppose any body ever thought 
the like: — 1 scarcely, indeed, dare avow so sin- 
gular a prejudice:—! am, in fact, ashamed of it 
altogether, and would give the world to get rid 
of it, because, at all events, London is a very use- 
ful place, and the difference between town and 
country is, it must be confessed, so palpably in 
favour of the former. 

Often am I tempted to say, as I traverse the 
streets of London, on a fine spring morning, why 
cannot 1 be contented, as so many thousands are. 
to enjoy the bright beams of the sun, as they are 
dimly reflected from the surface of that "Un^ 



168 

range of buildings of dingy brick -work, the habi- 
tations of maw; spending all their vivifying force 
on the superficies of this delightful stone pave- 
ment, on which so many lords of the creation are 
delighted to tread, instead of wishing rather to 
behold that wonderful luminary, enlightening un- 
restrained, (that is. in a careless^ loose and rude 
manner,) a mere vulgar expanse of rural scenery, 
mountain and valley, hill and dale, wood and 
wilderness, dispersing its rays abroad to cheer 
and revive seldom any thing better than mere 
birds and beasts, herbs and trees, to ripen the 
fruits of the earth, or adorn the flowers of the 
field? 

Surely, Thinks- 1 4o -my self, it ought to be far 
more gratifying, if I had but a just notion of the 
pre-eminence and dignity of maw, to see it insinuat- 
ing itself with such modesty and humility, and such 
deference to the multifarious restrictions imposed 
on it, into the cracks and corners, and narrow 
passes of the crowded metropolis; — making its 
way with such eager anxiety, as it generally seems 
to do, though continually turned out of its direct 
course, into its numerous streets and squares* 
lanes and alleys, courts and passages, shops and 
shambles!! 

The dignity and proud pre-eminence of us, hU' 
man creatures, cannot, I think, be placed in a 
higher point of view, than by the marked subser- 
vience of this glorious luminary in this particular 
region of the globe; though there is no place on the 
face of the whole earth, in which it is more scur- 
vily treated by man, woman, and child, it yet ne- 
ver wantonly turns away its beams: — it rises 
many, many hours before there is any body awake 
or in motion to be enlightened by its rays, and 
submits to be put out of countenance by the pre- 



169 

ference almost universally given to wax and taU 
low candles; it submits to shine only by reflec- 
tion and refraction, seldom in full lustre into any 
one street of the metropolis; and if it ever does 
appear in jjcrson to the astonished eye, it is most 
commonly not in its utmost glory, but more like 
a dark red ball shorn of its beams; not near so 
bright as one of those enormous show-bottles in a 
Chemist's shop, that so often dazzle and confound 
your eyes, as you traverse the streets at night. 

I know not where the sun receives more mark- 
ed insults than in London, either in the way of 
neglect or interruption, or open contempt of its 
use and importance in the system of things: — the 
MOON, poor thing! is not worthy of a thought;-^- 
though ([ueen of the JSTight, which latter has more 
votaries in London than any where else, all the 
honours are transferred to the one without the 
smallest care or concern being expressed for the 
other. Thinks- I-to -myself ihtvt are other queei^s 
OF THE NIGHT at Loudon! 

It is a pity but the sun and moon could be per- 
suaded to leave London to itself, and bestow such 
portions of their light as are thus uselessly spent 
upon the metropolitans, to the greater accommo- 
dation of the country folks: — the latter alone, in 
fact, seem to be duly sensible of the great and 
particular benefits to be derived from these two 
great lights o( Eeav)en; made originally, (as I have 
read,) the Sun to rule t!ie day, and the Moon to 
rule the night; an ordinance which Londoners 
have thought proper to reverse, so that generally 
and for the most part the night of a Londoner 
falls under the dominion of the siXn^ and the day 
of a Londoner under the dominion of the moon;— 

P 



170 

Is it not so, Sir? — Is it not so, Madam?— Is it not 
so, Miss? Speak out honestly. 

Not that all London, perhaps, is ever^asleep at 
the same moment: as there are plenty of disturb- 
ers, so there are probably plenty of disturb-erf, at 
all hours: — sweep! and dust 01 — hair-skeens^ and 
rahbit-skeens! — and oiild clouthesJ no doubt often 
at the dawn of day interrupt the xery commence- 
ment of many a beliefs repose, just returned from 
the ball, or assembly, or masquerade; — but let 
these reflect in their turn: how many honest, in- 
dustrious, hard working citizens, the rattling of 
their carriages may have robbed of the end of 
their repose, at hours still more unreasonable, 
more precious, and more allowably dedicated to 
Morpheus. 

And now I have alluded to these things, I can- 
not help mentioning another strange and unac- 
countable prejudice which I could never shake off, 
though so necessary to my comfort during my at- 
tendance in Parliament; instead of being cheered 
and exhilarated, as others generally are, by the 
sweet sounds that are continually saluting you in 
London, such as the rattling of coaches just men- 
tioned, the rumbling of carts, the cry o( sprats and 
mackrilli muffins, and crumpets, dust 01 sweep 
0, milk -below -maids, and other such melodious 
strains, I could at any time have found greater 
delight in the dull warbling of larks and linnets, 
blackbirds or nightingales, and other rural noises, 
such as — 

« The wild brook babbling down the mountain side. 
The lowing herd, the sheep-fold's simple bell; 
The pipe of early Shepherd dim descry'd 
In the lone valley; echoing" far and wide . 



171 

The clamorous Aom along- the cliffs above; 

The hollow murmur of the ocean tide,- 

The hum of bees, and linnet's lay of love. 

And the. full choir that wakes the universal grove.' 

There must naturally be something so much 
more noble and important in the * busy hum of 
mnn,^ than in • the busy hum of bees,' or any other 
inferior aninml, that I am al-most ashamed to ac- 
knowledge such base prepossessions. 

It is often said, and oftener perhaps thought of 
London, as of Paris in old time, that the very aii' 
of the metropolis is necessary to the improvement 
and perfection of any talent we may happen to 
possess; that those who have not visited the capital^ 
cannot be expected ever to excel in any art or any 
science, — upon which, I can only say, what has 
been already said also in the case of Paris alluded 
to, namely, that this is indeed very likely to be 
true, since, undoubtedly, the air of London must 
needs be a very particular air ^ not any of your 
mere simple, uncompounded, insipid fluids like 
the air oj the country, but evidently and palpably 
consisting of an immense variety of substances 
most curiously blended and ming;led together; 
London, as well as Paris, may reasonably be con- 
sidered as one vast crucible, in which divers meats 
and fruits, oils, wine^ pepper, cinnamon, sugar, cof- 
fee, (this for Paris — you may add for London) coal- 
dust, and coal-smoke, brick- dust, mud, the steam 
of a thousand breweries^ the fumes and vapours of 
i^n thousand gin-shops, &c &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. 
&c. &c. &c. are daily collected, the stomachs and 
lungs of the inhabitants being the furnaces by 
which these various ingredients are again decom- 
posed. 

It must be evident to all capable of consider 



172 

ing the subject but for one moment, that the more 
siibtle and volatile parts of every thing in the whole 
town capable of decomposition, must be every 
moment flying oft' and incorporating themselves 
with the air we breathe! what smoke! what flames! 
what a torrent of vapours and exhalations? 

I need not pursue this matter further: the hint 
is suflicient to enable any person in full posses, 
sion of almost any one of the Jive senses, tastey 
touchy smell, sights or hearing, to swell the cata- 
logue, as well as to enlarge his own ideas of the 
very extraordinary nature and component parts 
of a London atmosphere. 

How can we be surprised if it work effects not 
to be looked for elsewhere! who can wonder that 
the genius should be brighter, the brain clearer, 
the senses more acute; the faculties (not to men- 
tion the virtues) of the soul improved, in an at- 
mosphere subject to such curious composltioyis 
and decompositions, sublimations, fermentations, 
elective attractions, precipitations, Sfc. ^c. Sfc? 

There is nothing on which it appears to have a 
more powerful and wonderful effect, than on the 
human voice. The energies . and operations of 
which have here a value which would exceed all 
belief, if it were not capable of being verified by 
an appeal to facts notorious to the whole world: I 
do not mean to speak of the little trumpery pro- 
fits of those who hawk and cry their commodities 
about the public streets, (though to my soft ears, 
so wonderfully sonorous are the voices of the ve'-y 
gentlest of those gentle orators, that they seetu, 
most of them, to possess theffty-Md faculties of 
a Stentor;) nor do I mean to speak o^ i\\Q popular 
preachers in the several chapels in London, regu- 
lar or irregular, (though, for what I know, many 



173 

of them ma}' be admired, and paid more for the 
sound than for the sense they utter;) — nor do I 
mean to speak of the profits of the gentry of the 
long-robe^ (thou^ih I have heard it rumoured that 
some are frequently rewarded more for what they 
say, than what they think;) nor do I mean to speak 
of my brethren in Parliament, (though I know it 
is thought that many of them make some profit 
of their voices;) nor do I indeed mean to speak at 
all of the effects the London air has on the lungs 
of Englishmen or English-women^ to whom it may 
be considered as at all events natural and conge- 
nial. But I mean most particularly to allude to 
the very surprising advantage it gives to the voices 
of those who happen to have been born in the 
fairclimes of Italy; the more surprising because 
a Northern atmosphere might be naturally ex- 
pected to be rather disadvantageous to such 
{Southern rarities. 

I might adduce a thousand instances in proof 
of the astonishing value of an Italian voice, when 
exposed to the influences af a London atmos- 
phere; I might amuse the I'eader, if I chose, with 
a curious calculation of the probable amount of 
tiie enormous sums paid for every word of every 
air that proceeds from the mouths of certain emi- 
nent performers; but an article I read this very 
day in the newspapers is so much in point, that I 
shall merely transcribe it: Madame Catalani had 
diamonds on her head to the amount of 15,000^ — 
her voice, however, is her richest jewel.^ 

A Lady's virtue is generally supposed to be her 
• richest jewel;^ but you see the voice of an Italian 
lady in London outweighs even that; at least, so 
the paragraph just cited implies: most certain! v, 

P 2 



174 

however, in a pecuniafy point of view, it does at' 
ways outweigh the brightest and purest virtues of 
many of our worthy countrymen and most amia- 
bie country-women! 

There are several things for which I wish t( 
give London unbounded credit; particularly withj 
regard to all matters of social intercourse: these 
are far better managed in London than in the 
country. Mrs. Fidget, for instance, and her 
troublesome dogs, and child, (see pages 9, 10, &c. 
vol, i.) would never have been admitted in Lon- 
don, while my mother was writing a letter to my 
sister, unless she had herself, bona Jidcy sls they 
say in Latin, that is, from the bottom of her heart, 
chosen it; she migiit have looked out of a win- 
dow herself, and said, ' J^ut at home^^ so little 
are these things thought of in that great and po- 
lite city. ' 

I know there must ever appear to be something 
very like a deliberate falsehood, not to say down- 
right lie, in such sort of denials, and therefore, I 
think it would be better for people actually to say 
it themselves at once, out of the window, as I 
have hinted above, instead of making their ser- 
vants their substitutes upon such occasions, that, 
is, their deputy, fro or vice-liars;— London ser-- 
vants, besides, are in general, and when left to 
themselves, so remarkably pure, so perfectly in-; 
nocent, and altogether immaculate, that it \i a 
shame to lay such stumbling blocks in their way; 
surely it would, at least, be worth while to invent 
some harmless equivoque for this sort of questions 
and answers. . . 

And now I am upon the subject of being af 
home, I must observe, that to ■ he at home,' means 
in London, I scarce know what: — it certainly does 



175 

not mean that you are in your own house, private 
and disengaged, so as to sit quietly, snug and ra- 
tionally, at full liberty, anxl with complete com- 
mand of your time, in the enjoyment of the com- 
pany of your husband or wife, and the little olive 
branches it may have pleased Heaven to raise up 
around your family table; but it is rather, I think, 
as far as I am able to comprehend the matter, the 
exact contrary of all this: — ' to be at home,^ in 
London, is any-thing rather than to sit snug and 
quiet, in full enjoyment of one^s liberty: — it is to 
open one's doors to every body we happen to 
know, and to give them permission, by every free- 
dom in the world, to make it their home for the 
time being: — so far from sitting snug and quiet, 
you are, of all the people in such an assembly, the 
very person most peiemptorily forbidden ever to 
sit snug or quiet: — your servants even must he 
more at the command of the company th" of 
yourselves: nay, perhaps, by a certain deposit of 
money under the candlesticks, they must consent 
to be paid their wages by the visiters, for fear you 
should not be found fit to be trusted. 

'Jlie misery is, that when they are all gone, you 
fire really \eh at home; that is, you have your 
juse so completely on your own hands, that pro- 
bably, not one of all the company just departed, 
care a b.t more about you or your house,* though 
you are compelled to care about theniy in the mere 

* The following lines of the immortal Cowper, I cite, 
merely to show how littlehe knew of the world?.... 

"She that asks 

Her dear five hundred friends, contemns them all, 
And hates their coming; they, what can they less! 
Make just reprisals, and with cringe and shrug. 
And bow obsequious, hide their hate of her." 



ir6 

anxiety you feel, lest every thing should not have 
been conducted, as the French say, 'commeilfauty 
which admirably expresses a necessity of a most 
imperious nature, and, in regard to which, any fai- 
lure, or faux-pas, 1 fully apprehend, v/ould be 
more disquieting to the consciences of half the 
ladies in London, than ever so many failings or 
omissions of any other description. 

From all the -observations I have been able to 
make, it certainly appears to me, that to be at 
home, in London, does by no means imply any 
private comfort or domestic liberty, but rather, 
public inconvenience, and public, distress. One 
more observation, I must make, before I dismiss 
this topic. — 

There is a method of being at home, lately in- 
vented, which,if strictly interpreted according to 
the very letter of the terms, is the farthest possi- 
ble from being really at home in your own House; 
—-it is, in fact, freely and deliberately to give up 
your home: — 1 speak of the custom of lending 
certain great houses, (so great that I dare not 
mention them,) to musical ov theatrical performers, 
who have leave to sell tickets of admission, leav- 
ing only to the real possessor of the house, a pow- 
er and privilege of adding a very small proportion 
of the pompany. 

i have such a high respect for fiddlers and dan- 
cing masters, and opera singers, and foreigners in 
general, that J cannot, and would not, indeed, for 
the world, suppose it possible that they could in- 
troduce any improper company, but money is mo- 
ney, — and I believe that a bank note does not at 
all lose its value by coming out of the pocket of 
any vagabond on the face of the earth, any more 
than it increases in value by coming out of the 



177 

purse of a Duchess, Marchioness, Countess, Vis- 
countess, Baroness, &c. &c. &c. &o that, Thinks-I- 
tomyself. there's a hazard: the lady of the house 
may be good, super-excellent; but the company 
may be naught! — what a contrast! — what an in- 
consistency! — she may ' be at home,' certainly, as 
far as she is entitled to go to bed there when all 
the rest of the company are gone, but she may 

■depend upon it they will all think themselves as 
much at home as herself, so long as they may 
choose to keep her out of her bed, and are, after 
all, about as much ob'iged to her for any entertain- 
ment they may have received, as to the proprietor 
of any inyi orhotel, for the accommodations of their 

I rooms, so long as they may choose to give a pecu- 

I iiiary equivalent for the bows and courtesies, and. 

'i eatables, and drinkables, wherewith they may 
have been furnished for their money: Hotd/wi 
French, is the very word for a nobleman's mdiXV' 
s,\on, (f^rande maison cfune personne de quallte,) 
what then if we were to exchange the term House 
for Hotel, and say, D Hotel, E— Ho- 
tel, F Hotel, &c. &c. &c. that is, in plain 

English, genteel, (nay, even noble) accommoda- 
tions for those who can afford it. 

JS^eighhourhood, which is a word of great impor- 
tance in the country, is of no account at all in 
L.ondon. Every day, in the countrj; yoa may 
hear such complaints as these: 'I wish such and 
such persons lived a little nearer,- or * / wish such 
and such jieople were further;^ that is, further off, 
out of sight and out of reach; but no such mur- 
murings or wishes are to be heard in London; the 
people we liate most in the world, are welcome to 
live next door to us, and there is nobody too far 
off, if any pleasure or profit, amusement or de- 



178 

lif^ht, but above all, any credit or eclat are to be 
derived from visiting them. 

In London, wherever you are not^ nobody, pro-i 
bably, of all the company, knows where you are,s6 
that vou may, with much more facility and far 
less violence to truth than in the country, decline 
any troublesome or unpleasant invitation: nor are 
pleasant and unpleasant invitations so likely to 
clash and interfere in town as in the country, for 
houses enough arc open generally every night to 
enable you in the way of visiting, to kill twenty or 
thirty head o( game (as Mrs. Fidget would say) ia 
one evening; whereas, either on foot, or horseback, 
or in carriages, it must cost you a journey of many 
miles m the country, and all to be transacted by 
vulgar day 'light, and all in regular turns, without 
one omission, or any notorious preference; where- 
as in London, preferences at least are possible, 
as not being very easy to detect. 

It is a great comfort also, that in London, when- 
ever they please, * birds of a feather,' may get to 
gether; whereas all society in the country is, foi 
the most part, so heterogeneous and unharmonii 
ous, that you will generally see peacocks and spar 
rows, eagles a.nd tom-tits, canary birds and crows, 
goldfinches and didappers, all jumbled together; 
iind if one peacock would wish to find another pea^ 
cock, or one eagie anGtker eagle, perhaps they ma 
look the whole country through before they fin 
one;— in London there is always plenty of al 
kinds, both of birds and beasts; clean and unclean, 
from the highest to the lowest, so that every one 
may find his feWow— geese, owls, rooks, swallows, 
cormorants, lions, tygers, wolves, bears, foxes, and 
assesJ to a certainty, every beast of prey, and every 
bird Q^ passage. 



IT9 

The only equalizing plan to be adapted in tl^e 
[country, is, as soon as possible, to set the whole 
party down to cards. Two whist, cassino, or qua- 
drille tables will dispose of four couple at least of 
the elderly birds, and a good bouncing round game 
will take all the rest off your hands; — by supply- 
ing the want of conversation in those who cannot 
talk, and effectually stopping the mouths of all 
that can, the different measures of talents and in- 
formation which the several individuals of the 
company may chance to possess, are so happily 
brought to a par at a card-table, that the wise can 
be no longer distinguished from Ihe weak, nor the 
witty from the dull, nor the lively from the stupid^ 
nor the sage from the savage, nor the saint fram 
the sinner; or, in other words, the peacock from 
the sparrow, the eagle from the torn-tit, &c. &c. &c. 
— though no two of the whole covey may chance 
to beof ' one feather,' they are sure enough to be, 
(at a card-table,) all of one note. ' Two by ho- 
flours and three, by cards; Great cass, little cass, 
find the spades, Ma^am;^ or ' you go up Miss, and 
J draw ;^ become of necessity as much the song of 
the nightingale as of thfe magpie, of the goldfinch 
as of the gull, of the turtle-dove as of the goshawk, 
though their plumage be a:^ different as it is pos- 
sible to conceive. — Do but turn, gentle reader, to 
folio 12 of that learned work, which has lately 
made so much bustle in the world, and which of 
course I conclude to be in every library in the 
kingdom, (except, perhaps, the Bodleian and a 
few others,) I mean the PEACOCK AT HOME, 
and see, what little difference the plumage makes, 
and how much upon a par the Dowager Lady 
Toucan, and Dame Owlet, Doctor Buzzard, ana 
j Admiral Penguin appear to be, and how perfectly 



180 } 

it seems to have been forgotten, by the party 
themselves, perhaps, but at ail events by the lady 
of the house, (or rather my Lord Peacock) that 
they would not be accounted * birds of a feather'' 
upon any other occasion. 

I wonder, for my own part, that I am not more 
fond of cards than 1 happen to be, for the very 
essence of the amusement seems to me to consist in 
thinking-to one S'Self e\ihe.r in the forced suppres-^ 
sionof the brdght ideas and useful information with! 
which the witty and the wise might be entertain-jf 
ing the company, were but the common cliannel 
of converse and communication left open to them; 
or in the secret ponderations, hopes, schemes, wish- 
es, fears, and designs of every professed and anx- 
ious player; or in the restraint put upon the pas- 
sions, in orderly company, during an occupation 
in which irritation, vexation, perhaps even envyy 
hatredy malice, jealousy, and revenge must, in the 
nature of things, be as nearly as possible inevita- 
ble, at least in some breasts, from the beginning 
of almost every game to the very end of it. Do 
but look again at the picture, and see, for instance, 
if the Dowager X^ady Toucan don't seem, (whild 
she dare not utter her feelings,) to be thinking- to-! 
herself that she could wfflingly claw Admiral 
Penguin's eyes out, for not being able to save her 
from being beasted^ while Dame Owlet is more 
pleasantly, (but not perhaps less spitefully,) think 
ing -to -HER-self how fortunate she is to have snug 
in her own hand, the happy card that is id do the 
business. The noble Admiral, forgetful of his 
element and profession, evidently appears to be 
thinking, not of the fishes of the sea as usual, but 
of the fishes in the pool; while Dr. Buzzard 
alone, seems to turn away, as though not veiw 



181 

' fond ofquadrilley and (possibly) may be thinking- 
to-himself, how much nitlier he would be at home, 
or visiting his patients, writing prescriptions, and 
fingering of fees: heartily wi^HHiG-to-himself, be- 
sides, perhaps, that the pool was out, or his part- 
ner Dame Owlet at the bottom of the sea, for 
playing so slow, and looking all the while so stu- 
pidly tranquil, patient, and composed. 

O'^Cardsl—Cards!— Cards!— 

Noble, admirable, valuable invention! So infal- 
libly conducive to the moral improvement of the 
youngi and to the peace and satisfaction of the old 
— [Wherever, that is, they are taken up not now 
and then only for mere amusement-, once in a 
month or so, but made a part of every evening^s 
entertainment, and every rfoy's occupation] — The 
young cannot fail to learn from it, how to look 
sharp in time after the main chance; to have a 
lively regard for their neighbour's property, to be 
circumspect in all their dealings, to win theii-^ 
way, if not by tricks and stratagems, yet by art 
and management, and if not to go straight for- 
ward, yet at lea»t to shuffle successfully through 
life. 

The old it must naturally preserve, (during all 
the hours daily &ndi.%ightly devoted thereto,) as 
well from any painful reflections on the past, as 
from any over-anxious preparations iov futurity ^^ 
helping all the while to quicken their hopes 
of eternity, by enabling them to kill Time, at 
the very moment that Time is doing all he can to 
kill them. — But to return. — 

In the country, you must always visit in propria 
persona; that is, you must .actually go yourselvei^ 
to people's houses;-~but in London, if your ser- 



182 

vant goes for you, it is often just as well; or, if in- ' 
stead of making your appearance in person, you 
honour your acquaintance witii your name only 
on a card of certain dimensions, it is no affront, 
and, Thinks-I \gi-mijself^ perhaps, quite as agreea- 
ble to ail parties. — This is a noble convenience, 
and cuts off a world of disquietude and trouble. 

It is no uncommon case in London for a servant 
to know better than a Lady's own self whom she 
is acquainted with: and many instances occur, I 
believe, in which the whole business of visiting 
passes no further than between the footmen of 
different families, who, having committed to them 
the entire management of the transfer and ex- 
change of cards, conduct the matter with an ease 
and adroitness that does them infinite credit, and 
no doubt their mistresses to. 

As servants of the present day are not unseldom 
the subject of conversation among friends and ac- 
quaintance, and as I have more than once had oc- 
casion to allude to their merits, and am always 
anxious to bestow praise where it is strictly due, 
as besides there are few of my fellow-creatures, 
in regard to whose conduct and demeanour, I 
think more to myself, as I am in the habit of ob- 
serving them in their different departments, I 
cannot help offering a few remarks on that most 
amiable class of persons. — 

There is nothing, perhaps, of which this age 
may more justly boast than of the very improved 
state of these domestic conveniences. — No longer 
distinguished, except in certain cases, by any ar- 
ticles 0^ dress, from their masters and mistresses, 
they nobly lift up their» heads on high, like other 
lords and ladies of the creation, and assume. 



183 

without exception, all the airs, and graces, and 
manners of their employers, which makes a gay 
world of it from top to bottom. 

Instead of giving any body the trouble oniiring 
them, in the old-fashioned way, their only mode 
of coming into service now, is to hire themselves: 
— they wait not to be asked, what they can do, but 
ingeniously tell you at once what they won't do; 
and, if upon trial, they should happen to suit their 
employers ever so well, yet if their employers do 
not exactly suit them, they avoid all disagreement 
by withdrawing at once. 

Formerly, if a servant came into service in his 
teens, he would do his best to continue in the 
same service till his dotage. — There was no get- 
ting rid of him:— he clung to his master or mis- 
tress like ivy to an oak tree: but now they are for- 
ever going and coming, which has introduced such 
an agreeable variety into this department of life, 
that there is no saying how many new faces one 
master may see in the course of a year.— All the 
dullness and monotony of a joint interest and mu- 
tual attachment are quite at an end: no master 
need ever be encumbered long with the same ser- 
vant, because no servant will long consent now-a- 
days to live with the same master: let them be 
vemployed by whom they will, let them be in- 
dulged, coaxed, pampered, and caressed ever so, 
yet such is the aspiring nature of their noble 
minds, that they must soon be gone again to 'better 
themselves;' and who could have the heart to stop 
them? ^ 

There is one circumstance rather unpleasant 
attending the perpetual change of servants. It is 
irksome, (to shy people, at least like myself.) to 



184 

sit and be looked at during the hour of dinner, by 
a parcel o( strangers around one's table; but this 
is easily to be avoided in small parties by the use 
of the dumb ivaiter, — a sort of snuggery, which I 
confess, for my own part, I take great delight in, 
whenever practicable; for a. dumb waiter can plain- 
ly tell no secrets which a speaking one may: be- 
sides, the dumb waiter I mean is generally both 
e/pflf and blind into the bargain, which, Thinks-I- 
to-myself, multiplies one's comfort greatly. 

Sensible of the heavy charge they must be, in 
these most expensive times, to those with whom 
they live, modern servants are careful to guard 
against waste by letting you know, as distinctly 
as they can, what will best suit their appetites, and 
what not; and as they all eat pretty hearty as 
long as they have just what they choose to eat, 
the quantity of broken victuals is not likely to be 
so great, as if they were to leave you in the dark 
as to their particular likings and dislikings: — this 
then is a modern accommodation of great impor- 
tance: — if you or your housekeeper make any 
mistake in providing for the tables below stairs, 
immediate murmuring and complaint soon sets all 
to rights again, by letting you into the secret of 
the necessity of better management. 

Their exemption from taxes and household 
cares, renders them most happily careless and 
indifferent to all public and private distresses and 
calamities, so that they fortunately enjoy, in ge^ 
neraljan equal state of spirits, and should any 
great national misfortune or fa;nily loss, bring 
sorrow and heaviness into the drawing-room, it 
must be a great blessing and delight to know, that 
you h^ye nothing Iq do but open the door, and 



I 



185 

you will be sure at all times to hear the voice of 
joy and gladness in the servant's hall and kitchen. 

Formerly, there used to be great danger of con- 
fusion in most households, from the perfect indif- 
ference with which every servant would perform, 
when required, every sort of service: if tlie master 
gave but the word of command, or expressed any 
sort of want, none stopped to inquire whose place 
it was to obey, but the first that happened to be 
within hearing would be eager to discharge the 
duty demanded; and if more than one heard his 
voice, you might have seen the jolly footman tum- 
bling in his eagerness over the great fat housekeep" 
er, or the housekeeper over the cook, or the cook 
over the old gouty butler, all anxious to obey the 
impressive call; but now every servant makes it 
his business to know his own place so exactly, 
that it is a matter of impossibility that one should 
any longer invade the department of another, let 
the call be ever so loud, or the emergency ever so 
pressing, no entreaty or chiding, no coaxing or 
commanding, could induce a butler to consent to 
do the work o^ sl footman, or a, footman the work 
of a groom, or a housemaid the work of a cook, or 
a cook the work of a housemaid, but every one will 
be found to have such an invincible disposition to 
preserve the order and etiquette of things, that 
the smallest irregularity in this respect on the 
part of any master or any mistress, is sure to be 
checked or corrected by the timely advice and 
memento, that, * //^ is not my place to do so and 
so.' This also is an invention of very modern 
date. 

There is one office, duty, or service, of some im- 
portance to the comfort and welfare of the com- 

Q 2 



186 

piunity, which is now entirely rclihquished and 
abandoned by the whole race and order of domes- 
ticB; namely, that of informing the master or misr ■ 
tress of any disorderly proceedings on the part of 
the household in general. * Ma'am,' says Mrs. 
Honsekeeper^ * I did certainly know long ago that- 
Dolly the housemaid did intrigue with Charles the 
footman, but I thought it was not my business to 
interfere:' and ' Sir,' says Mr. ButleVy I certainly 
thought that sorvie silver spoons were missing, and 
that Molbj the dairi/maid, dressed too fine; but I 
did not like to get anger among my fellow -servantSi 
by making any piece of ivork about it. 

It used formerly to be a matter of convenience, 
for any master or mistress to communicate an or- 
der or direction through a third person: to tell the 
butler, for instance, to tell the coachman to wait 
Sit table, or the footman to ask the groom to carry 
a letter to the post; but this round-about mode of 
communication is now properly put an end to; Mr. 
Butler no longer dare presum^ to tell Mr. Coach- 
man to wait at table; nor Mr. Charles the footman, 
Mr. Bob the groom, to carry a letter to the post; 
Mrs. Housekeeper to tell Miss Housemaid to help 
her prepare the sv/eet-meats; nor the nurse to ask 
the laundry-maid to bring up little Miss's dinner. 
But if these things are to be done for the special 
accommodation of the master and mistress, it is 
settled and agreed, that in point of etiquette they 
are bound to deliver the commands themselves-^ 
which is but paying a proper compliment to their 
supremacy; — and though resistance may be often 
made even to the commands of masters and mis- 
tresses the^uselves in such cases, yet one step at 
least in the disturbance and discomfiture of fami- 



i8r 

lies is bj this means avoided; while the honour y 
dignity^ pride, and importance of all the under' 
sercants remain inviolate — a point most particu- 
larly to be attended to in the present day, by all 
who wish to live (with the consent and permission 
of their dependants^ in peace and quietness. 

In old time, every male servant wore a livery, 
the best possible badge of his calling and protes- 
sion, though rather a degrading one, and there- 
fore, of course, better laid aside; and thus we see, 
that now, none will wear a livery that can possi- 
bly avoid it; and where livery servants must be 
kept for show and parade, they are so chosen and 
selected as amply to compensate the casual de- 
gradation of their harlequin jackets; — none being 
admitted into the chosen band, but such as are 
distinguished above their fellows, by extraordina- 
ry altitude or beauty of person, or elegance of 
figure, or gentility of address; the exterior is all 
that is attended to, and they are generally hired 
by measure* 

I cannot pretend to say whether the above im- 
provements are owing most to the masters and 
mistresses of the present day, or to the servants 
themselves: — perhaps, they deserve to share the 
praise between them; — perhaps, both have contri- 
buted all they could to that happy change of man- 
ners and circumstances, upon which I have judged 
fit to congratulate the public at large. 

At times when the servants of other countries 
were judged to be notoriously bad, the wisest 
heads seem to have been puzzled to know where 
exactly to fix the blame; — some thought the mas- 
ters were in fault, and others the servants: no 
wonder, therefore, if 1 am now equally puzzled 



188 

to know how to portion out aright the commenda' 
tions that may be due to each. About thirty 
years ao;o, a celebrated French writer tlius speaks 
of the bad condition of servants at Paris, attribu- 
ting their faults, in a great degree, to the conduct 
of their masters: 

' Servants m former days,'' says he, (for the title 
of the chapter is Mos Grand Meres, our Grandmo- 
thers) * made part of the family; they were treated 
with less civility, but more affection; of which 
they being duly sensible, were in proportion 
grateful and attentive; masters were better serv- 
ed, and could depend upon them for a degree of 
fidelity very rare in these days; care was taken to 
preserve them alike from vice and from want; 
and, in return for their services and obedience, 
they plentifully enjoyed all the fruits of kindness 
and protection; but, now, servants pass from 
house to house, and from place to place, perfectly 
indifferent wh^t master it is they serve, and will 
come into the presence of the one they have just 
quitted, without the smallest emotion; they never 
get together but to reveal the secrets they have 
been in the way to discover; and are, in fact, no 
better than spies; and, as they are well paid, and 
well fed, hut despised, they perceive it to be so, 
and therefore are become our greatest enemies: 
formerly, the j led' a frugal, laborious, hard life, 
but they were held in some esteem and regard, 
and therefore, the faithful servant commonly died 
of old age by the side of his master.' 

This author does not seem to be quite aware of 
some of the comforts flowing from the changes he 
describes-.—certainlj his old masters were shock- 



189^ ' 

ingly unfashionable, though his new ones might be 
somewhat to blame. 

The other account I have to give, throws the 
blame upon tUe servants: — the original is in Latin; 
don't be frightened, ladies, it is Clodpole trans- 
lates, and it was one of your greatest favourites 
who wrote it, — even the famous Petrarch, — the 
sonnetteer, — the lover of Laura, — a great poet, a 
great lover., and a great philosopher^ and what is 
more than all, a. great man, for he kept great com- 
pany, and. probably, had in his time a great many 
great servants — it is worth reading at all events, 
because it is nearly five hundred years old, and so 
good as servants are now, you could scarcely be- 
lieve it possible {Thinks- I-to-myself,) that they 
could ever have been so bad, 

* Seneca,' says he, * has said a great deal in ex- 
cuse of servants, throwing the whole blame on their 
masters, and he commends his friend, Lucilius, 
for living familiarly with his domestics; — What 
can I say? — 1 do not like to dispute the opinion of 
so great a man, and yet I must confess, things ap- 
pear to me quite otherwise: — possibly, they had 
the advantage, either of greater skill and prudence 
to make their servants good, or better luck in 
meeting with such as happened to be good — to 
myself, neither of these things ever occurred, 
though I have been particularly solicitous about 
both: — let others, therefore, see to their own con- 
cerns; as to myself, I cannot praise what I have 
never known; — to me, the race of servants is above 
all things abominable, and I regard nothing as 
more true than the old proverb with which Seneca 
finds fault, nanjely, that ' as many servants as you 
have, so many enemies you have.' 



190 

*I do not pretend to dispute what he says in^ 
particular, or to deny his authorities; but whethept 
It be owing to the change of times, or mere chance,', 
or toy own impatience, I^o declare that I never 
yet saw a good servant, though I am continually 
upon the look out for them; and if I were by acci- 
dent ever to meet with one, I should be as much 
amazed as if I had met a man with two heads.' 

•And lest any should be disposed from what I 
say, to attribute this either to my particular care- 
lessness or severity, I must protest that I have 
tried everij earpedienU—huciVius could not live 
with his servants more familiarly than I have done 
with mine: I have advised with them, I have con- 
versed with them, i have even admitted them to my 
tabley'* I have confided to them my person and my 
property, and trusted them on purpose to make 
them faithfuh—but this my confidence in them 
has never answered; every artifice, on the contra- 
ry, has been practised against me; not one of my 
servants but has become more insolent in conse- 
quence of my familiarity, and more unmanageable 
in consequence of my indulgence; and as familiar- 
ity has bred contempt, so has my confidence in 
them only made them thieves:-— Let Seneca then 
say what he pleases of /m servants, I must speak 
what I think of my own and others; for I know 
not how it is, but if I speak the truth, I think all 
are alike: — I confess, for my own part, I find no- 
thing in life so vexatious as the obstinacy and 
perverseness of servants. Other wars and con- 
tentions have their intervals of peace and repose, 
but with these domestic foes, we must fight without 
intermission. — I am not, however, unmindful,' 
* Remember this was written 500 years ago. 



191 

(Thinks-I-io-myself, it is as well to add this, 
though it does at present in no manner apply to 
any of us,) 'that we ought to learn to bear with 
patience what we know to have befallen the great- 
est and the best of men: even Ulysses, in that ce- 
lebrated era which is termed heroicaL among the 
other hard toils and labours he sustained, is said 
to have been sorely afflicted at the insolence of 
his servants and hand-maidens: and, in more 
modern days, as report goes, the Emperor Freder- 
ick never ceased, (living and dying,) to complain 
of tlie injuries he had sustained from servants.' 

How happy, ( Thinks- l4o-miiself) how superla- 
tively happy we ought to be, that neither of the 
above accounts do at all apply to the masters, or 
mistresses, or servants of the times and country 
in which we live. No: — now, among ourselves, 
everj' thing is correct and comfortable: masters 
love their servants, and servants their masters; 
mistresses their maids, and maids their mistresses; 
how much, I do not attempt to describe; as no- 
tliirig can exceed the quiet, submissive, and civil 
obedience of the present race of servants, their 
frugality and diligence, their patient compliance 
and contentedness with every thing enjoined them, 
and- every thing provided for them, so nothing, 
surely, can ever exceed the care which modern 
masters have of their servants' interests, both 
temporal and spiritual: — in the words of an old 
author, 

" They care not what wag-es they give, 
" They care not what hfe 'tis they live." 

&ce the Epistles of the very learned Grumble- 



192 

dumpsius: — but, N, B. look sharp or perhaps yoti 
will not find it. 

When Emily and myself first went to London, 
we took with us some old-fashioned servants from 
Grumblethorjie, being willing rather to put up with 
their odd and uncouth ways, than take a new set 
merely to please ourselves; as they have been in 
the family ever since they were children, they 
will probably all soon drop off by degrees, and . 
then we shall have a general reform of our whole 
household: I confess, it will be a happy moment ' 
for myself, because then I may feel at liberty; — at 
present, their continual concern and anxiety . 
about my health and happiness, and the health and 
happiness of my wife and children, and the or- 
der and regularity of my house, and the morals 
and behaviour of the under servants, perfectly pre- 
vents our doing many things, that are quite 
common in other families, though somewhat con- 
trary to tiie laws both of God and man; — it is 
very trying to live under such restraints! 

The provoking thing is, that notwithstanding 
all their old-fashioned habits, and troublesome 
anxiety about one's happiness, long acquaintance 
naturally produces even a strong degree of love 
and esteem for them, so that few I should think 
could find in their hearts to turn them adrift, if 
they happen not to wish to depart of themselves: 
— the very nurse that nursed me, that took me 
first from my mother's lap is still an inmate of 
my house; — though so afflicted with the rheuma- 
tism and a defect of sight, and worn down with 
age, as to be perfectly and entirely useless, I 
have been weak enough to promise that she shall 
have her run for life among us, and that I will de- 



193 

posit her remains, when she dies, somewhere near 
her olil master and unstress, in the church yard 
at Grurnblethorpe: 

Luckiiy for her, Emilj and my children find 
amusement in her old stories, and, I believe, often 
encourage her to talk of past times, which is her 
greatest delight;— they have learnt from her, i 
find, the exact pattern of the cap and frock the 
Ciodpole had on at his christening; who made the 
cockade to denote my hoyhoudt how many yards 
of lace there were in it, and what sort of lace it 
was; — she remembers the colour of my first pair 
of breeches, and the very pattern of my buttons, 
which, liy all accounts, appear to have been of the 
su^ar loaf shape; — often do the tears trickle down 
her cheeks when she relates what shocking chiU 
blcilus poor little master Bobby had in the hard 
weather, and how she used to bathe them and an- 
oint them, and chafe them with her hands, and 
wrap them up in her apron as [ sat, crying and 
sobbing upon her lap, before the nursery fire;— 
she knows exactly how many nights she sat up 
with me when I had the measles, and the small- 
pox, and when I cut my eye-teeth; she can re- 
count, and I believe often does, all t!ie pranks of 
my childhohd, and boyhood, and youih. 

But she is in all her glory when she describes 
the splendid and costly dresses which she remem- 
bers my grandfather ami grandmother to have 
worn; such gold and sliver lace as broad as one's 
hands! rich silks that would have stood an end of 
themselves! — ' Aye,' (she will say sometimes,) 
'things were very d liferent then; then a Duchess 
might be distinguished from a Milk-maid^ and a 
Di^ke from a Valley-de-skmn; — then the wages 

R 



194 

and hire of servants and apprentices were not all 
spent in dres!<^ as it is now-a-dajs, but was sent 
to the relief of their aged parpnts, to prevent their 
becoming dependent on, or a hurthen to, their pa- 
rishes, or laid up for times of sickness or want; 
but who can wonder that things are as thej are, 
when a shoemaker's apprentice can have the as- 
surance to dress like a lord, or a washer-woman's 
daughter like a lady, and not be ashamed of it, 
and their parents or their employers be such fools 
as to encourage it?' So will she continually run 
on, shaking her head and lifting up her hands, at 
the sad times and sad changes she has lived to wit- 
ness, for as such she regards them, 

I had great apprehensions at first, that she would 
have been the occasion of the death of my wife, or 
some of my children, not only from her over fond 
attachment to them, but to certain ancient nursery' 
prejudices. When my eldest child was born, 
though it was in the very middle of the month of 
July, she would have an enormous fire lighted in 
the roojn, and a warming pan held within the cur-' 
tains of the bed, whenever there was any necessity' 
to undraw them so much as the space of two inch- 
es, for the purpose of introducing any supply of 
food, or drink, or medicine; so that had not the apo-. 
thecary interposed pretty peremptorily, 1 verily 
think both Emily and her offspring would hav^ 
been entirely suffocated; then, the pap she made 
for the infant, thick enough for the spoon to stand 
upright in, was to be forced by boat-fu\h into the 
tiny stomach of the new-born, to prevent the wind 
getting in; and when it had been introduced in 
such unmerciful quantities, as necessarily to oc- 
casion a degree of distension, so uneasy as to 



195 

throw the poor child almost into convulsions, more 
fuel was to be added to the flame, because it was 
a case proved in her own mind, that wind had got 
in nevertheless, and that a child could cry for 
nothing but wind, and ivind could coine from no- 
thing but emptiness; so that the more she kept 
stuffing, the more the child cried, and the more 
the child cried, the more she kept stuffing it. 

When, at last, by dint of stuffing and cram- 
ming, she had brought it to such a state of con- 
tinual suffering and continual crying, that nothing" 
seemed likely to appease it, she revealed to us 
this great nursery mystery, videiicitf that Provi- 
dencehad only provided for'such sort of cry ings, one 
only cure in the whole compass of the universe; 
and that this one and only cure and remedy was, 

a BIT OF A YOUXG ROASTED SUCKING PIg! ! for whicll 

she would have had,of course, a special messenger 
sent out, upon the fleetest horse in the stables, to 
rummage and explore all the pig-styes in the 
country round. 

It was in vain that I tried to laugh or to argue 
her out of any of these prepossessions: i even took 
the pains to describe to her, as well as I could, the 
narrow dmiensions of an infant's stomach, and the 
minute vessels on which all its nourishment de- 
pended: in a joking way, though most seriously 
convinced of its truth, i used often to tell her, 
that in all likelihood old nurses and gossips had 
sent more human creatures out of life, than either 
s:iinsor swords^ plague, pestilence, or famine, a.i\d 
that but for the blunders and mismanagement of 
such sort of good folks, half, if not two-thirds of 
the infants that have perished, would, probably, 
have lived and done well; but 1 might as well 



196 

have talked to the wind: it generally all ended in 
a, — ■* Don't tell me, my dear yoiinor gentleman, 6f 
jour halves and your thirds, and your narrow 
stomachs, and small vessels, how should you men 
know any thing about it? Didn't 1 bring up you 
and your sister and Master Tommy, and Miss 
Jenny, (till they were neai six months old,) and 
should have brougiit up the whole eleven your 
mamma had, had they not turned out so sickly and 
.fitty that there was no rearing them any howl' 

She spoke truly enoun;h, for, by all accounts, 
we were all sickly and fitty, and I verily believe, 
nothing but a very accidental strength of stomach 
in the case of my sister and myself, prevented our 
going the way of the other nine, that is, being kill- 
ed with kindness; stuffed and crammed, and cod- 
dled out of this wicked world almost as soon as 
we were born into it. 

Much as I love and esteem the good old lady 
herself, and many of her contemporaries, I cannot 
but feel satisfied, that it will be a great blessing 
to posterity and future generations to be born, 
when, in the course of nature, and revolution of 
things, the whole race of staffers, and crammers, 
and coddlers;^ are defunct, and done away from 

* I include Coddlers, not that I would have Infants 
starved either by cold or hung-ev, but that I conceive hot, 
and soft, and croivded beds, and heaps of flannel folded over 
their months, andea?-^, andnoses, cannot be overfavourahle 
to the due admission of that aerial fluid on which most of 
the functions of life have hitherto been thoug-ht to de- 
pend: possibly, also, the stoinach and month, and throat, 
which often suffer the direst evils from being- over-heat- 
ed, mig'ht stand some chance of being" a little cooler and 
more comfortable in the absence of such overwhelming' 
incumbrances. 



i9r 

the. face of the earth. I cannot call my nine bro- 
thers and sibters back again, but I wUl take all 
the care I can to prevent any of their nephews 
and nieces following them in the same premature 
manner, by seeing that they are reared in a way 
more evidently consonant to tlie plain dictates of 
nature; and I would advise every body else, who 
happens to feel any desire to have their children 
to live and do well", and to g:row up healthy and 
gtrong, to do the same; that is, to keep an eye 
npon these particulars, and to be careful that every 
infant either has its own natural food, not prepared 
by old nurses, but by young nurses, that is, by 
Frnvidence: or, if they be by any invincible neces- 
sity^ deprived of that blessing, (nothing less than 
invincible necessity should depiive them of it,) 
that then the substitutes for that natural food be 
as like it as possible; thin, light, never given too 
hastily, never in too large quantities at on« time; 
how like to all this, boats full of pap as thick as 
mud, and perhaps as hot as Jire, and as sweet as 
sijrup, poured down a child's throat while lying 
flat upon its back, spirituous liquors, spices, beer, 
wine, incessant doses of Godfrey's cordial, Dal- 
by's Carminative, &.c., &c., &c., are, I leave every 
body possessed of common sense, and hitherto 
unprejudiced, to judge and deterniine. 

1 have inserted all this, merely, that nobody 
may grudge the money they shall have paid for 
my book, because, though I believe almost every 
physician in the kingdom would now give the 
same advice, yet not without h guinea fee^ at least, 
half as much again as my book is to cost; and, 
besides, if any infants in consequence of this hint, 
should be saved from the thrush^ or from jits, or 

R 2 



198 

from humours, or from painful dentition, so much 
crying and roaring by day and by night, will in- 
fallibly be prevented; S(» much mo:e peace and 
quiet, of course, will take place in every family; 
good mothers will be made more happy, and bad 
mothers will be less teazed; g;ood nurses will get 
more rest, and <:ross nurses will be the seldomer 
provoked, and every poor little infant that comes 
shivering and shaking into this strange world of 
ours, will be sure to have, not only all its pains 
and perils exceedingly abridged, but by giving less 
trouble, and being better enabled to make its own 
way, will stand so much better a chance of having 
more friends and fewer enemies, and more good 
wishes, than could ever be the case under the old 
stvffing, overfeeding, crying, fretting, dying way 
of going on; — add to all this, less physic will be 
necessary, and therefore less of the plague and 
trouble of administering it, and now judge what 
valuable advice I have given you;* though cer- 

* By you I mean, at least, all persons already married, all 
that are going to be married, all that expect to be mamed, 
all that mean to be married, all that wish to be man-ied, 
all that ought to be mawied, and all that have any influ- 
ence over those that are married: I scarce think that 
even professed old maids and professed old bachelors are 
quite excluded, because I am ^confident, many of the lat- 
ter have nerves liable to be affected by the cries of an in- 
fant, either in the way of sympathy or provocation, (I 
hope, mostly of the former) and, I verily believe, half, if 
not two-thirds of those piercing-, and penetrating, and piti- 
ful cries might be prevented, not in great houses only, but 
in our cottages, and poor-houses, if a proper system M^ere 
generally adopted in regard to the food, mode of feeding, 
clothing, and management of infants; while the gi'and se- 
cret of such an improvement, I will ventiui'e to say, merely 



199 

fainly at the expense of a large digression from 
my main work, — to which it is highly necessary 
now to return. 

The reader will easily suppose from what I have 
expressed of our dislike to the bustle and noise 
of the metropolis, that the principal part of our 
time was passed at Grumblethorpe, especially 
as long as my worthy parents lived. No events 
in the whole course of my life affected me more 
deeply (as I hope my readers will believe) than 
those which bereft me of my excellent parents: — 
whenever I had allowed myself to dwell upon the 
painful prospect of our separation, it had always 
occurred to me, that which ever went first, the 
other would not long survive; and so it turned out 
to be: — they had lived together from the first mo- 
ment of their union, in such a state of complete 
harmony and agreement, that it was a most obvi- 
ous conclusion to draw, that separate and apart 
from each other, they could not possibly exist on 
this side the grave. 

My poor mother died of a lingering illness, the 
foundation of which was laid, probably, in her 
close attendance on my sister, the third year after 
her marriage, during a violent fit of sickness. No- 
thing could prevent her setting up with her night 

consists in causing a little common sense to prevail over In- 
veterate prejudice, and nature over superstition,- — a hard 
undertalung", I know, but not hopeless, with the assistance 
of such advice as modern practitioners have done well to 
communicate in very sensible and perspicuous publica- 
tions; — as little tiny infants and brute beasts cannot speak 
for themselves, Thinks-I-to-myself, why may'nt I speak 
for them if an opportunity offer? 



200 

after ni«;ht, though it was in the depth of winter, 
not only that she might be in tiie way to adminis- 
ter to my sister's own wants, but that she might 
superintend, occasionally, what was going on in 
the nursery, where there were two young infants 
ill also, whom my sister could not bear (as is too 
commonly the case) to leave entirety to servants. 

Just as my sister began to recover, my mother 
became ill, and from one failure and ailment to 
another, gradually sunk into a state of debility, 
from which no care, nor art, nor remedy, could 
possibly restore her. 

There never existed a better mother, there 
never existed a better wife! I dare not attempt to 
draw her picture myself, it has already been de- 
lineated by another, whose painting 1 shall adopt, 
most happy to avail njyself of it: 

* She had a love so great for her lord, sp entire^ 
ly given up to a dear affection, that she thought 
the same things, and loved the same loves, and 
breathed in his soul, and lived in his presence, 
and languished in his absence; and all that she 
was, or did, was only for, and to, her dearest 
lord. 

* As she was a rare wife, so she was an excelr 
lent mother; for, in so tender a constitution of 
spirits as hers was, and, in so great a kindness to- 
wards her children, there hath seldom been seen 
a stricter and more curious care of their persons, 
their deportment, their nature, their disposition, 
their learning, and their customs; and, if ever 
kindness and care did contest, and make parties 
in her, yet her care and her severity were ever 
victorious, and she knew not how to do an ill turn 
to their severer part, by her more tender and for- 



£01 

ward kindness, — and, as her custom was, she 
turned this also into iove to her lord; for she was 
not only diligent to have them bred nobly and re- 
ligiously, but also was careful and solicitous that 
they should be taught to observe all the circum- 
stances and inclinations; the desires and wishes 
of their father, as thitiking that virtue to have no 
good circumstances, which was not dressed by his 
copy, and ruled by his life, and his affections; and 
her prudence in the managing her children was so 
singular and rare, that whenever you mean to 
bless a family, and pray a hearty and profitable 
prayer for it, beg of God, that the children may 
have those excellent things, which (my mother) 
designed fur (us,) and provided for (us,) in her 
heart and wishes: that they may live in her pur- 
poses, and grow thither, whither she would fain 
have brought zis;'she was, in short, 'in her house, 
a comfort to her dearest lord, a guide to her chil- 
dren, a rule to her servants, and an example to 
all.' This, I can safely say, is an exact portrait 
of my dear and excellent mother. 

My father, as a man, a husband, and a parent, 
was, in all respects, as correct, as amiable, and (I 
had almost said) as rare and singular. His at- 
tachment to my mother was exactly in proportion 
to her attachment to him, and, in regard to his 
children, the same struggles of care and kindness 
were conspicuous in his whole deportment; when 
reproof was necessary, he was not backward to 
adjninister it, but his love and kindness were still 
so predominant, that it was plain to see, that 
chiding was his strange work; 1 must say, that 
neither my sister nor myself gave him much trou- 
ble in this way; the chief thing I have to reproach 



20S 

myself with is, a sort of inattention to his feel- 
ings occasionally, arising merely from the dis- 
parity of years between us, which I am -ensible, 
must at times have interfered with his enjoyments. 
I would gladly recal now, if I could, many op- 
portunities I suffered to pass, of being more in 
his company, and more in the way of his advice 
and instruction: I may mistake, but it seems to 
me, now he is gone, as though I certainly omitted 
attentions of this kind, which, I fear, tl)^e best of 
children are liable to do: a failing, Cowperiiasso 
admirably touched in his Task, that T cannot help 
reminding my reader of so beautiful a passage. 

* Some friend is gone, — perhaps — 

A Father^ whose authorit}'-, in show 

When most severe, and must'ring- all its force, 

Was but the graver countenance of love; 

Whose favour, hkethe clouds of spring- might low'r. 

And utter now and then an awful voice. 

But had a blessing in its darkest frown, 

Threat'ning at once, and nourishing the plantj 

We lov'd, but not enough, the gentle hand 

That reared us, — at a thoughtless age, allur'd 

By every gilded folly, we renounc'd 

His shelt'ring side, and wilfully forewent 

That converse which we now in vain regret; 

How gladly would the man recal to life 

The boi/'s neglected sire! a mother too. 

That softer friend, perhaps more gladly still, 

Might he demand them at the gates of death?' 

When I reflect on these things, it appears to me 
one of the strongest natural arguments for the 
immortality of the soul, and the renewal of our 
earthly relations, in a world to come, that even 
where the greatest possible attachment subsists 
between parents and their children, the mere dis- 



£03 

parity of years inevitably prevents that complete 
association of feelings, and intimate fellowship of 
heart and soul, which is the cement and preroga- 
tive of all other friendships: in a world to come, 
but no where else, these things may be set to 
rights, and such attachments receive their full com- 
pletion. 

For many years my father acted as a magis- 
trate merely for the sake of doing good; thinking 
it possible, as he used to say, that in a low degree, 
it might give him opportunities of becoming 'a 
refuge to the needy,' 'eyes,' perhaps, * to the 
blind,' or *feet to the lame,' and, indeed, this was 
tiie bent and aim of all his proceedings. While his 
personal character and rank in life gave him 
weight with his higher neighbours, so that he could 
easily prevent all oppression and partiality, his 
strict justice, extreme courtesy, and known be- 
nevolence to those below him, bad the eifect, up- 
on all occasions, of animating the good, and in- 
timidating the base: which intimidation arose, not 
so much out of any dread of his power, or appre- 
hension of his severity, (for the milk of human 
kindness flowed through all his veins) but from 
the mere feeling and persuasion that to do wrong 
would disoblige the squire, or my lord, as it ran 
latterly; — he made a point of hearing every com- 
plaint and every defence with the utmost temper, 
patience, and civility, and when he had discover- 
ed to the best of his apprehension, where the fault 
really lay, he gave sentence in such a manner, as 
should serve at once to vindicate the equity, pro- 
priety, and necessity of the law, convince the 
guilty of the atrociousness and folly of his con- 
duct, and reconcile the parties for the time to 



'204 

come: — my father's chosen motto indeed seemed 
to be: — ' Farcer e subjectis, et debellare supcrbos,^ 
which I shall take leave to translate, — ' To aid the 
lowly, and restrain the proud^ but I have often, 
heard him say, he was not unfrequently puzzled: 
for he did not always find the superbi among the 
rich, or the siibjecti among the poor. 

His death was almost sudden to those that were 
about him. That he never enjoyed hirAiself after 
the decease of my poor mother, was evident to us 
a!l; but what he actually felt and suftered, he kept 
a profound secret; he complained of nothing; but 
it was very perceptible that his old amusements- 
had lost all their attractiwis: tliat time hung heavy 
on his hands, and his appetite failed: that he him- 
self foresaw that liis end was approaching, I con- 
(ilude, from many conversations he had with mcy 
and from souie particular directions and advice 
he seemed more than commonly anxious to im- 
press upon my mind. A few hours only before 
he died, which happened at last, suddenly, as he 
sat in his chair, he called me to him, and formally 
thanked me for my attention and kindness to himf 
spoke in raptures of my mother, and expressed a 
hope that they should soon meet again; he exhort- 
ed me to be kind and indulgent when he wa& 
gone, to all his tenants and servants. — * As a «/V »- 
bleman,^ says he, ' 1 hope you will always act no- 
bly, which is almost all I can say upon the subject; 
degrade not yourself by low company, or low 
amusements, yet be condescending: a great man 
is never so great as when he stoops to those who 
are only below him in the accidental circum- 
stances of fortune or station; endeavour alway^s 
to be reserved without pride^ and familiar without 



205 

meanness. As a Peer, if ycu ever come to sit in 
the House, be independent; not vexatiously thwart- 
ing and harassino; the executive at every turn, 
(which it is as easy for him to do who' deserves no 
place, as for him who scorns to solicit one) but 
preserve such a clear freedom of opinion, as may 
fully satisfy your own mind, that you have not 
bound yourself by any irrevocable obligation to 
vote one way or the other; give no proxy; it will 
be your privilege, but it seems to me a mere bur- 
lesque upon i\\e debates of the House; a fair one, 
perhaps often, but not creditable; vote and decide 
ibr yourself. 1 hope I need not say, he religions; 
— I trust you have ever had such examples before 
your eyes in this respect, as may have made an 
indelible impression upon your mind; yet, be care- 
ful; the world abounds with snares and tempta- 
tions; Ihe more you possess in this world, the 
more you must have to account Jory and the more 
you may have to lose in the world to come, where 
earthly delights and earthly pretensions will be ut- 
terly unknown.' These were among the last 
words he uttered; in three hours after he was car- 
ried a corpse to his chamber, and the glittering 
coronet, with all its dangerous accompaniments 
and weighty incumbrances, descended upon my 
head. 

In looking over his papers after his death, the 
following lines were found, blotted in places, and 
evidentij- written in haste. .Being in his own 
hand, and having in one corner of the paper a date 
corresponding nearly with the period of my mo- 
ther's death, I can scarce doubt but they were 
^vritten upon ihat occasion, though he certainly 
iievej- showed them to any of us, and does not ap- 



206 

pear to have taken the pains, to write them out 
fair: on which account, perhaps, I ought not to 
make them public; but 1 cannot quite reconcile 
it to myself to suppress them, as they manifestly 
bespeak a most resigned temper of mind under 
one of the sorest calamities incident to human 
nature. 

How without rule are the decrees of God! 

How He chastiaes! — How He spares the rod! 

Scarce does it ever seem that right prevails; 

How oft G\n\X.JlourisheSi an&^'wtxxe fails.' 

What must I think of this severe decree. 

Which, thro' the will of God, now humbles me! 

Am I to think Him kind, wlio could destroy 

Every fond hope I had of lasting joy? 

Am I to think Him merciful, who knew 

The pang's I felt, and yet his aid withdrew? 

Am 1 to think Him good, who could ordain 

To innocence and worth, disease and pain? 

Am I to think Him wise, who could withdraw 

The fairest pattern that the world e'er saw? 

The best example of the purest life; 

The fondest mother and the chastest wife; 

The mildest mistress, and the warmest friend; 

Could bring- such virtues to an early end! 

He who could re-illume the languid eye. 

And have deferr'd at will the parting sigli? 

Have turn'd aside the threatening dart of death. 

Have help'd the feeble pulse, the short'ning breath? 

Am I to think Him gracious, good, and kind. 

Who saw the bitter anguish of my mind. 

And yet ahke unmov'd by pray'r or tear. 

Tore from my bosom all I held most dear? 

Yes — Good he is/'f — and on this hope I live; 

He knows the scene's unjinish'd — he can give 

In some superior world of peace and bliss, 

A compensation for the pains of this! 

Perhaps the sorrow that we here endure 

May make the happiness ofheav'n more sure; 



2or 

To part so soon, perhaps, whatever the pain, 

May make it happier to meet ag-ain: 

Perhaps the very sti'oke that caus'd my grief 

May have prov'd kind to her, and brought relief: 

Pm left to suffer what I scarce can bear! 

She is in shelter, and above all care! 

She left her children innocent and free; 

/have to guide tliem through life's stonny sea! 

She left me safe; and, (for 1 hid my wo) 

She saw me look at ease, and thought me so: 

But had she known my smiles were all pretence,- 

Scarce heaven's liigh siunmons could have cali'd her 

hence! 
Almost, had she but seen my aching heart. 
She would have giv'n up heav'n not to part! 
To comfort me she would have sh»unn'd no^ain; 
To comfort me she would return again; 
But that she knows, perhaps, my better doom; 
Sees in my present pangs a bliss to come,- 
Sees, for the chasten' d, God reserves the hestt 
And, for the heavier-laden, sweeter rest! 

Some of the lines undoubtedly do not exactly 
apply to the period and circumstances of my mo- 
ther''s death, so that perhaps, after all, they maif 
relate to some other events but it must at least 
have been one extremely similar in most points. 
They were certainly written on the loss of a be- 
loved wife, and that wife a mother also. 

I shall dwell, however, no longer on a subject 
so melancholy, but proceed to the winding up of 
my family history. 

Nothinjj; made me happier than to find that my 
marriage with Emily, was of great benefit to her 
father and the rest of the familj. The singular 
worth of this excellent divine, would, in all pro- 
bability have been left without any earthly reivard, 
and he might have mouldered away the rest of his 



208 

life in the Vicarage of Grumbletliorpe, had it not 
been for this alliance; this seemed immediately to 
give him a more than ordinarif claim to the higher 
appointments in the church; which jointly or suc- 
cessively he obtained, till he arrived at a station 
which has enabled him to provide well for all his 
other children. 

Nor let any pretend to think, that because I 
happen to have thus dwelt upon the claim of high 
aUiance, that Mr. Mandeville had no other pre- 
tentions or claims, for I am bold to say, that his 
elevation, however obtained, has been in no man- 
ner likely to have the effect of excluding or keep- 
ing back any other Divine of better pretensions; 
an event, certainly to be apprehended in cases of 
this nature, and which, Tiiinks I-to-myselfj (per- 
haps,) SOMETIMES HAPPENS. 

And I might confidently say, quite as much 
with regard to the promotion of my revered and 
valuable friend, Mr. Hargrave, — who began to 
rise in his profession from the very moment my 
father became a Feer, and acquired an interest in 
the Scutch boroughs; and has obtained excellent 
preferment, evidently not so much on account of 
his oicn private virtue, and merit, as because he 
had the good luck to be tutor to one of us noble 
Ctodpoles; as such, I acknowledge he mi^^ht very 
well have deserved it, for such an appointnient 
bespeaks talents, at least, and the more Clodpole 
the more labour; 1 must, however, confess that I 
, am honest and public spirited enough to feel some 
a'tarm upon such occasions; for there is such a 
number of lis noble Ctodpoles always growing up, 
(though all the nobility are not such Ctodpoles as 
myself. Heaven forbidlj but there are so many of 



209 

lis, altogether, bright, and dull, whose tutors and 
instructors have all the same claims and expecta- 
tions, that I fear, what with this never-ceasing de- 
mand on the dignities and revenues, and snug 
appointments of the church, together with that 
of natural or accidental alliances into the bargain, 
modest worth, unobtrusive merit, and unprotect- 
ed talents may sometimes be overlooked and de- 
barred of their fair rewards. 

The Church, besides, ( Thinks- I-to-my self) is 
expected to pay tribute to every other foofession, 
without receiving any thing in return; to the 
State, to the Law, to the ^rmy, to the JN'ctrz/:— 
nay, even to the Physical line; for, if any man's 
brother, uncle, son, son-in-law or nephew, wife's 
father, or wife's brother happens to become lord 

CHANCELLOR, Or SECRETARY OF STATE, Or is skilled 

tn the command of a fleet at sea^ or of an army 
in the Field, or cures, or pretends to cure, or is 
supposed to cure, a Prince, or a Peer or a Pre- 
late, He, (that is, the relation of said distin- 
guished person,) may forthwith rise as high in the 
Church, as ever he pleases, without any further 



(I was going to write qualification, but you see I 
have scratched it out; any other — ation may per- 
haps do as well; as examination, probaiioK, &c. 
&c. &c. &c.) Stalls, Deaneries, nay, even Bish- 
oprics are immediately put within his reach, 
though undoubtedly the very same pretentions 
could never have elevated him to the Bench m 
Westminster Hall without- some superior know- 
ledge of, or practice in, the Law, nor procured 
S 2 



210 

him the command of ?i fleet or of an armij, with- 
out some naval or military talents or services into 
the bargain. 

I do not say these things, mark me, gentle rea- 
der, out of any spite whatsoever, to the aristocra- 
cy, (for I must of course, be naturally a friend to 
itj nor merely because I happened to marry a 
Farson^s daughter, but because I was bred up 
from a child to feel sensibly for the honour and 
credit of the established church, and therefore 
could not help falling occasionally into reflections 
of this nature, as upon other topics; else, as a 
PeeTi I know that I should do most wisely to let 
things remain just exactly as they are, for as 
there is now a great prospect that my dear Emily 
and myseU may have several little Clodpoles to 
provide for; and as sinecures must needs be the 
fittest things in the world for such sine -talents ■> £ 
might as well leave the Stalls, and Deaneries, &c. 
&c. &c. &c. &c. &c. to help us out in the way of 
such family accommodations, as they hitherto 
have done; besides, that now and then, (to speak 
honestly) for the very credit of the chqrch, I would 
heartily wish to see persons o( high birth and dis- 
tinction preferred; I say now and then; but to re- 
turn to my tejct^ to speak ecclesiastically. 

Mr. Mandeville has now been for some time, 
(solely as I believe in virtue of my marriage with 

Emily) Dean of A — , Canon Residentiary 

of B , Prebendary of C , Chancellor 

and Archdeacon of D — — -, besides holding two 
livings in (ivhat is commonly called) the king's 
Gift! 

Mr. Hargrave, I hope soon to see a bishop, if 
the present administration continue in; not that 



211 

I am quite sure that I shall not support their suc- 
cessors if they should happen to go out, — so that 
his chance is good either way. 

I would not have you fancy, however, worthy 
reader, that I am prepared to vote with any min- 
ister through thick and thin; — no, nor yet with 
any opposition in the same way, — I do not like to 
clog the wheels of the executive Government un- 
necessarily; there is always much, much hard 
work to be done, and somebody must do it, and 
whoever does do it, must have the patience of Job, 
at least, to bear the abuses to which they will be 
subject, ri^/ii or wron^, and, Thinks -I to -my self , 
one man is much' like another when once in of- 
fice, and if any great or owf-of-the-way occurren- 
ces come to pass, I am still free to judge for my- 
self, for place or pension I have none; — I am 
pledged to no mob, and I have not one friend or 
dependant who wishes to be served at the expense 
of my integrity. 

I have not mentioned a word about my intro- 
duction at Court, because every body will con- 
ceive it to have taken place as a matter of course: 
I can only say, I have never mwc/i frequented that 
august assembly, partly because I hate crowds 
and parade, and partly because I never wish to 
be considered as a mere courtier, — and as for go- 
ing to Court, merely for going-to-cuurt-sake, so 
many have found their way there of late, who. 
Thinks- I-to -my self, were probably neither wanted 
nor expected', that Peers and Peeresses, I should 
think, might well have leave to stay away, if it 
were merely to make room. 

I shall, however, take upon me to assert, 
f though, Thinks 'I-to-my self millions, perhaps, of 



£12 

iny feilow-subjects raaj be ready to dispute such 
high pretensionsj that whenever I have had oc- 
casion to approach the person of my Sovereign, 
he could not have had near him, a more attach- 
ed FRIEND, a more DEyoTED servant, or a more 
LOYAL subject:— 

Heaven bless him! — May he live long, and 

MAY HE BE HAPPY, HERE AND HEUEAFTErI!! 

— —The Regent too 

Why, Heaver BLEgs him also! 

And, Thinks-I-to-mijself, since it is the way 
with Kin^s and Princes, to have the speeches they 
are to deliver on great and solenm occasions, 
prepared to their hands, 1 have one ready for our 
iioble Prmce, which, I think, most people will ac- 
count particularly ftt and suitable, when the time 
pomes for his surrendering up his present /z?,«;7i 
and most important trust, into the hands of his 
recovered parent.—- 

■ — — — There is your Grown, 
And he that wears the Grown immortally, 
Loiag guard it yours; if I affect it more 
Than as your Honour, and as your Renown, 
Let me no more from this obedience rise, 
' Which my most true and inward duteous spirit 
Teacheth this prostrate and exterior bending-/' 

I defy any minister to provide one more appro= 
priate, — A few words about my Parliamentary 
duties, and I haye done: — I never spoke while I 
was a Member of the House of Commons, and I 
never speak now in the House of Peers, (though I 
have for son)e time had the honour of being one 
pf the sisteen,j but, while other members and 
pthef Lords have been speaking, I confess, I have 
pf^en thought to myself a great deal, and almost 



215 

wondered that I never drew the attention of some 
of the orators to the part I must have appeared to 
be taking in the debate: — I have sometimes al- 
most felt as if some speaker would say, — ' As the 
noble Lord there by the fire for on the opposite 
benchi or near the woolsack) appears to be think- 
ing. — The fact is, perhaps, I have generally been 
thinking, what none of them would much like to 



confess. 



Another thing, however, wliich has much de- 
terred me from speaking, is the newly erected lit- 
tle house of parliament in a certain city, for which, 
(generally speaking,^ T entertain the highest res- 
pect. But where, of late, the speeches and acts 
of the members of both the Lords' and Commons' 
house, have been arraigned, criticised, and con- 
demned, with such extreme severity, rancour and 
contempt, that Thinks- Irto -myself, surely legislat- 
ing must be ten times easier than weighing out of 
plums or brewing of beer; — both very important 
callings at all times, and while pudding and ale 
have any charms and influence, far more likely to 
be popular than any higher callings or profes- 
sions whatsoever: — my hope is, therefore, that we 
fehall soon have no need of Courts^ and Cabinet 
Councils, and Privy Councils, and Grand Coun- 
cils of the Realm, but that all the business of the 
nation, and all the aftairs of Europe, may be far 
better settled by the Court of Common Coun- 
cil of the City of — • 

Envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitabli)- 
NEss: from all sedition, peivy conspiracy and 

REBELLION, &,C. &C. &C. 

Comm.Pray. B. fol.ir. 



214 

Ther6 is nofhino- to which I have ever paid 
more attention than to all cases of public or pri- 
vate grievance submitted to Parliament, because 
I hold it to be one of the first principles of our 
constitution, and one for which I will ever most 
strenuously contend, that the meanest subject has 
a right to complain of any real injury, and strict- 
ly deserves to be heard: and that Parliament is 
most imperiously bound to redress all such inju- 
ries and hardships when duly proved and made 
known. 

True it is, that I have occasionally heard cases 
so aggravated as to end in the arrantest * Partu- 
rient Monies,^ that ever could be conceived* — 
many a mountain of this kind has brought forth 
scarcely so much as a mouse, after such pangs 
and throes, and &\sirin'\ng labours of parturition, sls 
would have led one at least to expect some great 
behemoth or Leviathan, and the 7ioise, and parade 
and/wss of which has often gone near to scare me 
out of my wits; — still, 1 am for stopping no 
mouths; — aggravated or not aggravated, if griev- 
ances are but supposed to exii^t, 1 would have the 
case heard:— when I was in the House of Com- 
mons, there was a certain set of members, who 
were forever entertaining us with grievances, and 
as the name of one of them happened to be fVa^'- 
hie* I used to call tiietn my warblers, so sweetly 
did their notes accord with my feelings;-— but 
while I say this in their praise, I must explicitly 
declare, that there is nothing 1 hold in greater 

* So full was this g-entleman's hand at one time of such 
sort of business, that it was said by some, (I apprehend 
only in jest) that he actually kept a Clerk to collect and 
supply iiim with materials. 



215 

abomination, than murmur hig, and gruviblingt 
and complaining for mere mischief- sake: to excite 
unnecessary alarm, and unreasonable discontenti 
— such people I hold in utter abhorrence, but as 
none such are to be found at present, 1 shall scarce- 
ly be understood, perhaps, unless I more particu- 
larly describe the exact character; — about seven- 
ty-tlime years agOi the character seems to have 
been well understood, and, perhaps, much earlier; 
for what I am about to transcribe, is from the 
eleventh edition of the work I refer to, the date 
of my particular copy being 1738. — _ 

* At first,' says the author, * He (that is the miV 
chief -maker,) sets up for a mighty patriot, and 
pretends a great concern for his country; then he 
descants upon the great advantages of liberty, and 
runs through all the changes of property; in his 
■way he has a fling at the Prerogative, and sets the 
subject above, the sovereign: these discoveries 
work upon the rabble, who constitute him guardian 
of their privileges: they give themselves up to his 
conduct, and for a pledge of their blind obedience 
present him with their eyes and understanding; 
he is the only patriot in the nation, he alone stands 
in the gap, and opposes arbitrary designs, and pre- 
rogative innovations; the Atlas that sustains liber- 
ty and defends property against state encroach- 
ments. 

' Now has this man more zeal for his country^ 
or more religion, than his neighbour? Not at all; 
his concern is interest, and his religion, mask and 
artifice; his vanity at court exceeded his force, and 
his merit or fortune kept not pace with his ambi- 
tion; the wind blew in his teeth, and now he tacks 
about and makes for a republic:— now these popu- 



216 

lar men, these men of applause, have two-thiVtls 
of a traitor; and I take it for a general rule, that 
he is no good subject who runs away with the heart 
of the vulgar, their intellectuals are too weak, or 
their passions too strong, to distinguish truth:' so 
far the book of 1738: 1 shall only say. Caveat Judi- 
tor, therefore,--let him that hath ears to hear con- 
tinuat complaints from the same mouth, and no- 
thing but complaints from yearns end to yearns end, 
BEWARE, for, Thinks- 1 to-myself, ' He that seeks 
perfection on earth, leaves nothing new for the 
saints to find in Heaven; for whilst men teach, 
there will be mistakes in divinity, and, as long as 
no other govern, errors in the state; therefore, be 
not over-iicorish after change, lest you muddy 
your present felicity with a future greater and 
more sharp inconvenience.' 

With one eye upon these hazards, and the other 
upon the imperfections incident to all human un- 
dertakings, I ever most conscienciously apply my 
best eftbrts and influence to rectify and meliorate 
whatever appears to me really capable of rectifi- 
cation and melioration, with'out exciting or fo- 
menting a greater spirit of discontent and uneasi- 
ness, than the real state of the case, after all 
fair allowances, shall seem to warrant. Clod- 
pole as I am, I am not so blind or stupid as never 
to see any thing that wants mending or putting 
to rights in the great vessel of the state, but 
knowing the extreme delicacy and beauty of the 
machinery on which all its movements and all its 
advantages depend, Thinks-I-to-myself, Heaven 
forbid that any very rough or inexpert hands 
should ever be entrusted with its repair or reno- 
vation. 



217 

< Thee— native nook of earth! — though squeezed 
By public exig-ence till annual food 
Fails for the craving" hung-er of the State, 
Thee I account still happy, and the chief 
Among the nations, seeing thou art free. 
And being free, I love thee; for the sake 
Of that one feature can be well content, 
Disturb'd as thou hast been, poor as thou art, 
To seek no sublunary rest beside.' 

And now, I have fairly brought my narrative to 
an end; (Thinks-I to-myself, how glad will you all 
be to hear it!) if, however, any body should wish 
to know more about me, as, for instance, the very 
year when I succeeded to the title, how many 
children I have, how old I am now, in what street 
I live, &c. &c., let them search the list of Scotch 
Peers in the red book under K, or into any of the 
Peerages under title Kilgahnock, and of course 
they will find all these particulars at full length; 
and, if they should have heads clear enough to 
make out what relation I am to the first Earl of 
Tay -and -Tumble, I'll freely acknowledge them to 
be much cleverer than I ever pretend to be. 

What, for instance, will they make of the fol- 
lowing string of parenthesis which occur in the 
very middle of my grand pedigree? (which John^ 
son of the said James, by his third wife Brid- 
gHina, daughter and co heiress of Archibald Fra» 
zer, cousin german to Simon, fourth Earl of Tay- 
and'Tumble, in virtue of his descent in a right 
line, from Margaret, grand-daughter of O^Brien, 
the second Earl,) which Margaret, (who died m 
child-bed of her thirteenth child,) was^ wife to Sir 
David Carnegie, of Carnegie^ in the county of 
€lackmaman^ knight^ second sou of Montgomery 



^8 

Garnegie, of Cincardin,'by Dorothea Eliza, daugh- 
ter of John Gordon, Earl of Tullibumkir?, and 
niece to the first Lord Baldonemore, sometime 
grand huntsman to king Malcolm II. (from whom 
are descended the Baldonemores of Craii^r ad- 
dock in Cincardistine,) by whom she had/ve 
daughters and seven sons, videlicet, Clotilda (mar- 
ried to the Lord de J\*ithesdale) who died leaving 
issue, Charles, (married to Eleanora, grand- 
daughter to Robert, fifth Earl of Belgarvy,) Ro- 
bert and Alice, — Mary — Isabella,-— Jemima, (who 
all died young,) Anne, (married first, Sir David 
Bruce, of Fingask, secondly, Constantine Lord 
Viscount hochmaben, by whom she had three sons 
and as many daughters, and thirdly, a common 
soldier, named Duncan Macleod,) Alexander, 
(first Lord of Strathbogy) Charles — William — 
Patrick — Adam — James — Thomas — David — and 
Cosmo— from which Cosmo (who married Jemima, 
fourth daughter of John, son of Robert, Earl of 
Tay -and -Tumble, > — nephew of Nichodemus Baron 
Kilgarnock,) is derived the present noble family 
of Kilgarnock, (who intermarrying, &c. &c. &c.,) 
that is, some how or other got among the Dermonts, 
and so finally settled in we, the Clodpole, now 
head of all this illustrious house; who, I hope, all 
sleep quietly in their graves, for if any of them 
were to arise, I am sure I should not know one 
of them. 

In short, I suppose the Heralds know who I am, 
and how I came to be what I am, and therefore I 
am satisfied; otherwise, if my honours all depend- 
ed on my own understanding of my own descent 
from my great ancestor the first Earl of Tay- 



219 

and-Tumble, I will freely acknowledge I should 
give up my peerage at once; for upon the most 
diligent search I can make into mi»,tters, it still 
appears to me that all my dignities clepend, first, 
on my father's great aunt having neither father 
nor mother, and secondly, on my great great 
grandmother"^ s being brother to the sister of one of 
the old Lord Tciz/-anc?-TM?n&Ze's uncle's cousins: 
there may possibly be some misprints and perplexi- 
ties m the peerages I have examined, as I find 
many of the tike kind in those of other families^ 
and therefore who knows but that other Peers 
have been about as much puzzled as myself? I 
confess, how my father's great aunt could have no 
father or mother, seems to me, as nearly as can 
be, inexplicable, yet so the matter stands accord- 
ing to the books; and I therefore feel bound in 
honour to mention it, for fear any of my readers 
should think 1 am deceiving them. 

On looking back I see there is one important 
matter I have accidentally forgotten to mention, 
viz. that in a little time after my grand hymeneals, 
and Miss Twist's stolen wedding with yonng 
Muster Dash, poor Mrs. Fidget died of a cancer 
on her tongue! 

And now, TIiinks-l4o-myself, I have quite en- 
tirely done. 

Gentle Reader! — As you and I may never 
meet again. FARE THEE WELL! 



riNIS« 



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